


Love Can Tell A Million Stories

by snofugl



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: One Shot Collection, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snofugl/pseuds/snofugl
Summary: A collection of one-shot requests that all have the potential to turn into full fics should there be a demand for it. Mainly Marvin/Whizzer, but if other pairings are requested, I'll write for them too!





	1. The Old Time Photographer and Guy Who Won't Leave Him Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting at a festival au

The last thing Marvin expected to happen when taking Jason to a festival, aside from his son _actually_ winning the bottle and ring game, was feeling his heart do an odd fluttering thing when he caught a glimpse of the handsome guy running the old time photo booth. Trina had insisted she had _far_ too much to do around the house to accompany them, and what with their divorce still being relatively fresh, Marvin can’t bring himself to lament her absence. Especially not when the Handsome Old Time Photo Booth Guy is flashing him a knowing smile from his spot behind a camera. ~~ _Shit._~~

 

Jason ran off with a friend after only being at the festival for a matter of minutes, which Marvin had been a bit sour about at first, having planned on making a father-son bonding experience out of this event, and the music echoing across the open space is starting to make his temples ache. What was _he_ supposed to do for hours while his son enjoyed himself? He circled the grounds for a while, pausing to pick up a soft pretzel as he weaved his way through booths that crowd the selection of Central Park. Every time he checked his watch, it seemed as though it had moved counterclockwise instead of making leaps and bounds like he desperately hoped it would. Somehow, though, he always finds himself back at the Old Time Photo Booth, and he swears the guy running it hasn’t taken a break in over three hours. Not that he _cares_. Or noticed the way the guy keeps running his hand through meticulously tousled hair.

 

And he certainly doesn’t know how he wound up dragging Jason ( who he found after some thorough searching and the help of his neighbors that he had the good fortune to run into ) to the booth ~~with mild complaining~~ , and wound up with a cowboy hat plopped on top of his head. This was _definitely_ just to make good memories with his kid, he assures himself, despite the fact that Jason’s standing two feet away from him and scowling with a fake mustache pressed to his upper lip, and definitely _not_ a way to get a better look at the handsome man behind the camera. Because that would just be sad, and it’s not like he’s **_desperate_** , and it’s not like he’s finding it difficult to look away when the guy is directing them into position– and it could just be his imagination, but he’s pretty sure the Good Looking Camera Guy is staring back.

 

They go through the process of getting the picture taken, and Marvin barely looks at it ( his eyes aren’t focused on the camera lens in the photograph, and Jason looks mildly pained ), turning his attention directly to paying the Good Looking Camera Guy. He seems more than happy to take his money, eagerly plucking the crisp dollar bills from Marvin’s fingers before he can so much as tuck his wallet back into his pocket.

 

“ _So_ is this what you do for a living?”

 

Not the most polite question to start a conversation with, but it’s all he’s got.

 

“What, work cheap booths for festivals?” the man seemed appalled, and Marvin holds his tongue to keep a comment about how the booth was hardly cheap, given the amount of money he’d just forked over for it, “ _Hardly_. I just happen to be the only photographer they could find for this gig.”

 

“You’re the only one in the entire city who would do this? They couldn’t find _anybody_ else who took better Old Time photographs? I find that hard to believe.”

 

“And **_I_** find it hard to believe that you’ve got the nerve to say so,” the guy doesn’t miss a beat, raising his chin, but lacking any real offense– he appeared more challenged than vexed.

 

“So you’re a legitimate photographer, then,” Marvin deduces, “What’s your name? Maybe you’ve worked for one of my clients before.”

 

That’s a lie, and they both know it. If this man had been to any meetings involving him and a client, Marvin would’ve remembered him. He’s got a face that’s hard to forget.

 

“Look, pal, your kid looks like he wants to go, and I’ve got a line waiting to get pictures taken. Unless you’ve got a business card for me or want to give me more money for another copy of your photo, you’ve gotta get moving.”

 

The quick dismissal catches Marvin by surprise, and rather than allow his pride to be wounded, he straightens himself up and raises his chin to minimize the notable height difference between them.

 

“I’m afraid I left my business cards in my other coat.”

 

“A crying shame.”

 

“Have you got a name?”

 

The Attractive Camera Guy blinks, amused by the sudden forwardness.

 

“Tell me yours and I might tell you mine.”

 

“ _Dad_ ,” a waiting Jason whines impatiently from out of view.

 

“Okay, just a second, kid,” Marvin calls with a hint of exasperation sharpening his tone. Turning back to the photographer, he offers a hand for the other to shake, “I’m Marvin. Now, what’s your name?”

 

“Whizzer Brown,” the man introduced himself as he shook Marvin’s extended hand, something that resembled the look on a cat’s maw before lunging at a cornered mouse riddling his fair features.

 

Marvin blinks in skepticism, brow creasing in irritation, though he doesn’t pull his hand away.

 

“I’m being _serious_.”

 

Whizzer tightens his grip just a smidgen, expression falling flat in a way that made Marvin uneasy.

 

“So am I.”

 

“ ** _Dad!_** ”

 

Marvin allows his hand to drop, annoyance clear in his expression now.

 

“You can get a head start, Jason. I’ll meet you by the popcorn cart in just a minute.”

 

Jason wastes no time slipping out away from the enclosed booth, grabbing the photographs from his father’s hand as he went. Marvin briefly has to recollect his nerve before staring Whizzer in the eye again.

 

“What time are you done here?”

 

Whizzer cocks an eyebrow, preening.

 

“Well, this thing ends at six, and it’ll probably take about an hour to get all this stuff loaded up and out of here. But I’m not in charge of anything past making sure my equipment is packed up and on the right truck, so half past six is your best bet as far as catching me again goes.”

 

A mental note about half past six is made.

 

“I’ll see you then. I’ll let you get back to your job now.”

 

He’s already heading away when he hears Whizzer call after him.

 

“Either bring a business card or flowers! No one likes an empty-handed man.”

 

And when Jason questions the grin on his lips, Marvin can’t find it in him to tell his son that he might have a date with the Attractive Photo Booth Guy.

 


	2. The Varsity Peacock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high school popular kid/nerd au

Whizzer Brown was the human version of a peacock, Marvin decides one day as he jabs at the macaroni and cheese in front of him, staring at the varsity jacket clad young man with _annoyingly_ perfect hair and cheekbones from across the cafeteria. All he does is preen and god forbid someone ruffle his feathers, he’ll have the entire cheerleading squad on your ass in a heartbeat. Everyone knew his name– it was a hard one to forget, and even if it wasn’t his **_real_** name, it was how he signed his schoolwork and was addressed by faculty so there was little room to push for the truth. He was likable; Whizzer knew how to charm the pants off his peers and win people over with just a smile and a few smooth syllables. Marvin envied that.

 

There were many things about Whizzer Brown that stirred envy in Marvin’s gut; the way he never had a bad hair day, the way he effortlessly maintained decent grades without even trying ( though Marvin has a hunch Whizzer has convinced a classmate to either help him or do it all for him ), the way even the football team and cheerleading squad would actually give him the time of day, and the way he looked Ridiculously Good in the horrendous Track and Field uniforms. Okay, so _maybe_ that last one was more than envy, but the thought made Marvin stab at his lunch with even more vigor. Why he was so _damn_ preoccupied by Whizzer Brown was beyond him, he’s never spoken to the guy and he doesn’t intend to. What was there to say besides _‘hey, you look good in those gym shorts’_?

 

“Are you going to eat your lunch or just brutally murder it?”

 

Trina’s voice yanks him out of his bubble of thoughts, and she regards him with apprehension while working away at her salad. Her inquiry attracts the attention of both Mendel and Charlotte, who also turn to stare. Marvin shrugs and pops a fork full of macaroni into his mouth, trying to push the thought of Whizzer from his head.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defends, and Charlotte’s lips twist into a knowing frown.

 

“You’re distracted,” she murmurs pointedly, and they’ve both heard the _‘distraction from hard work leads to failure’_ lecture from parents enough that she allows the phrase to hang in the air without continuing. He holds his tongue, tempted to point out that he’d caught _her_ staring at Cordelia, Trina’s Home Ec Rival who hung around Whizzer and somehow managed to match his level of charisma daily, just a couple hours prior.

 

“Thinking about the upcoming Calc exam is all,” he lies flatly as he shovels more food into his mouth, glancing at the open textbook sitting by his elbow as though for emphasis. Trina accepts it and returns to her conversation with Mendel, who’d been excitedly talking about their current topic in his psychology class. Charlotte just scoffs and taps out a message on her phone. Marvin watches a notification flash across his screen and gives her a look across the table.

 

**[ Charlotte : You could at least _try_ to be subtle about your pining. ]**

 

Balking, he shoots a message right back.

 

**[ Marvin : Says the one who was batting eyelashes at her Home Ec partner earlier. ]**

 

Charlotte looks tempted to chuck her phone at him.

 

**[ Charlotte : You can talk to me about pining when you’ve actually said two words to Whizzer. ]**

 

Marvin scrunches his nose, feeling challenged. Charlotte’s the only one who’s noticed he’s picked up a habit of making eyes at Whizzer anytime they’re in the same room together. Trina and Mendel are blissfully unaware; he has no interested in outing himself to Trina just yet, still feeling residual effects of their breakup whenever he spoke to her, and anything he says to Mendel will make its way to Trina. To make a point of actually speaking to Whizzer would take them both by surprise, and he wanted to remain at least somewhat subtle for as long as he could. His work was supposed to be what came first and foremost; his parents had made that abundantly clear. He was on track for prestigious colleges and well-paying positions, he couldn’t derail that his Senior Year.

 

But another thing Marvin couldn’t do was leave a challenge unanswered. It was like forfeiting a game, and Marvin never could stomach a loss. So he looks Charlotte dead in the eyes, scrapes together what nerves he could find, and moves to get up.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” snapping his textbook closed ( he didn’t need to study, he already knew the material like the back of his hand ), he abandons his half-eaten lunch, “I’ll bite.”

 

Charlotte looks pleasantly surprised, and he doesn’t have to look to know that Trina and Mendel are absolutely baffled and wondering what they missed. Turning his back to them, heart pounding like it’s trying to tear its way out on his ribcage and run a marathon, Marvin steadily weaves his way through the crowded cafeteria to the table where Whizzer was busy chatting away with Cordelia and a couple of people he identified as a healthy mix of Track Stars and Theatre Kids. He had to give Whizzer credit: the guy wasn’t exclusively sports, like most of the other Varsity guys. He’ll talk to whoever tickles his fancy– everyone but _Marvin’s_ kind of person, it seemed. Then again, both Whizzer and Cordelia were still Juniors, and most Seniors interacted exclusively within their grade unless they were on the same teams or clubs.

 

Cordelia spots him first, and after glancing briefly in Charlotte’s direction, supplies Marvin with a warm smile. Marvin decides he likes her. Clearing his throat in attempt to get Whizzer’s attention, he tries to keep a level head as he keeps sweaty palms pressed to his sides. When Whizzer turns around and stares at him, looking a bit annoyed to be interrupted, Marvin swallows and fights to maintain eye contact; some steady footing had to be established. He might not be entirely popular, but he was no pushover, either.

 

“Hey. I’m Marvin,” when he’s met with an unresponsive gaze he pushes on, “I sit by you in History?”

 

“I know who you are,” Whizzer replies, eyes raking Marvin over in a way that made his skin burn, “You answer every question in that class.”

 

Marvin blinks, surprised that Whizzer paid enough attention in class to notice he was even there, let alone answering questions. Hell, he’s surprised Whizzer paid enough attention to know questions were even being asked.

 

“ _Someone_ has to.”

 

It’s a little unnerving having unfamiliar eyes of the students around them boring into his back, but Marvin remains composing, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Whizzer shrugs with indifference.

 

“Whatever, “ he dismisses, “I assume you didn’t come over here to ask for notes or to ask what the homework was, then?”

 

Marvin falters but stubbornly doesn’t let it show. He hadn’t planned this far ahead.

 

“No. But if _you_ need it, I’d be happy to give it to you.”

 

Whizzer laughs. He actually laughs, and it isn’t mean or degrading. It’s like condensed sunshine and Marvin feels nauseous.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Whizzer chuckles, “You’ve got _balls_ , Marv. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

 

Marvin opens his mouth to reply, but the bell sounds to signal the end of lunch period, and he’s almost relieved. Whizzer’s friends scurry off, Cordelia leaves them with a smile, and Marvin watches as she meets Charlotte by the cafeteria doors. Whizzer doesn’t move to go, eyes still expectantly watching Marvin. There’s a haughtiness to the way he holds himself, Marvin notices, and something in him wants the satisfaction of wiping the slyness from Whizzer’s lips.

 

“So. Are you gonna ask me something, or are you gonna let your **_girlfriend_** finishing picking your stuff up for you while you stand here slack-jawed?”

 

A glance is spared to see Trina plucking his textbook from the table where he left it, and Marvin feels something he assumes to be guilt stir in the pit of his stomach; somehow, she was always left picking up after him. That’s what friends ( albeit somewhat estranged ) were for.

 

“She’s **not** my girlfriend,” he clarifies stoutly, and Whizzer raises his eyebrows, “And I have a test, so I should be going.”

 

Ignoring the latter half of Marvin’s reply, Whizzer shifts uncomfortably close. Marvin feels his heart leap into his throat, and for the first time his tongue feels tied.

 

“Damn, and I thought you guys were gonna get ‘Best Couple’ for superlatives, too. What happened? Did she notice you liked staring at my ass in gym too?”

 

Marvin chokes and feels his face flush, pulling his hands from pockets to fold his arms across his chest.

 

“I do _not–_ ”

 

“Oh, please. _Everyone_ stares at my ass in gym. You just happen to keep looking the longest,” Whizzer’s voice lowers, coyness apparent on pursed lips.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I’m _saying_ ,“ Whizzer begins, petulance creeping into his tone, “If you want to ask me out or whatever it is you came over here to do, just do it already. I’m gonna miss Photography altogether at this rate.”

 

Marvin blinks slowly, stunned. Eyes flicker to where Cordelia and Charlotte hover by the doorway, attention on the pair of boys with knowing interest. Turning his attention back to Whizzer, mouth dry, he tries to recollect his thoughts. He had a _test_ to go ace, damn it. He couldn’t mar his perfect attendance for this.

 

“I didn’t think you were the type to date.”

 

“Track schedule doesn’t allow for much free time. And ninety percent of the guys around here are boring and broke. Haven’t had any reason to stick with one.”

 

“Would coffee convince you to try?”

 

Whizzer scoffs, but doesn’t looked appalled, so Marvin counts that as a win in itself.

 

“It might. But it better be some _damn_ good coffee.”

 

Times and numbers are exchanged, and Marvin basically sprints to the Calculus classroom. He makes it just in time. As per usual, he flies through it and has time to kill the rest of the period– when he checks his phone, he can’t help but grin.

 

**[ Charlotte : When I told you to say two words to him, I meant say ‘hello’ or something. I didn’t say you had to go ask the guy on a _date!_ ( By the way, Cordelia says she has some recommendations for coffee places, so catch her after Home Ec ). ]**


	3. The Weisenbachfeld Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two miserable people meeting at a wedding au

 

“This _shits_.”

Whizzer snorts and glances over the rim of his champagne glass to stare at the man sitting across the table from him who had been sourly watching the happy newlyweds as they were entertained by guests during their reception. He looked absolutely _miserable_ , and from what Whizzer could tell, he **really** didn’t want to be there. He’d been trying to figure this guy out for the last twenty minutes– and not just because he looked _remarkably_ good in a suit –as there had to be some reason or obligation of some kind that forced him to stay in that room and not march out. Who comes to a wedding just to bitch, anyways? Whizzer would bitch, but he’s being paid to be there ( the Weisenbachfelds had hired him to be the wedding photographer ). It wasn’t that he _hated_ weddings, there was some charm to them despite his being unable to actually have one for himself, and he always somehow found his way into a conversation full of heavy family gossip. And more often than not there was plenty of alcohol he could just help himself to, which never failed to put him in good spirits. It was rare that there was ever a bad photograph taken at a wedding, too. There were so many smiles, everyone is dressed their best, and he’s paid a shitload of money for easy pictures.

But this guy clearly saw no perks in attending this event, and showed no interest in engaging in any of the festivities. No, clearly he’d rather sit at this table with a drink in his hand and watch what was happening around him scathingly. Taking another long sip of champagne, Whizzer tries to place him. Maybe he’s an old ex, a family member or a friend of the bride or groom who just really hated the pairing, or maybe a family member whose date ditched them last second so they’re sitting here at a wedding alone. Whatever it was, the whining was too much for a tipsy Whizzer to tolerate. It wasn’t like _he_ wanted to be here; as lovely as weddings were, and as little as he cared for marriage ( he liked being able to have fling after fling without the danger of commitment being involved ) it stung a bit knowing there wasn’t even an option to wed if he ever wanted to.

“Then _go_. You’re a grown-ass man. Just get up, call a cab, and **_go_** ,” he muttered dryly, lip curling in distaste. The man’s brow scrunched and, as though he just realized Whizzer was sitting there, stares at him indignant. Whizzer doesn’t miss the way he’s looked over very carefully, albeit briefly. _Interesting_.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been complaining since you sat down. If you’re in this much pain, just _go_.”

The man’s scowl deepened, but his eyes studied Whizzer’s face intently; Whizzer stared right back, unwaveringly. 

“Believe me, I would if I could,” he retorted, continuing to nurse his drink. Whizzer scoffed in disbelief, he was tied by monetary obligation to stay– what could this guy possibly be stuck here for? A ride?

“Oh really? And why’s that?”

The man opens his mouth to reply, irritation winding its way into his posture, but thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut again. Fixing his crooked tie, he spares Whizzer’s slightly exposed chest ( the reception hall was hot, and ties feel suffocating ) one last glance before turning his attention back to the dance floor.

“That’s none of your business.”

Whizzer doesn’t push it, as tempting as the idea of getting this stranger riled up sounds, and helps himself to another glass of champagne. A moment of strained silence passes between them as they focus on their drinks. The music is almost overwhelmingly loud, and either people suddenly got a lot more obnoxious all of a sudden or his current company’s negativity is contagious, because suddenly Whizzer can feel his nerves prickle and he wants to be anywhere but in this chair at this table with a camera perched in his lap. He’ll have to be ready for any slow dances that get thrown into the mix, couples always love the slow dancing photographs. Personally, he thinks the photos are stale. He conveniently ignores the fact that he only thinks they’re stale because he never has anyone to dance with. _Sure_ , everyone has closeted uncles or whatever, but when hired as a photographer, it’s generally frowned upon to be a source of family drama when you’re supposed to be taking pictures. Chances are, he wouldn’t be hired as frequently should he make a **habit** of finding dance partners he actually found attractive ( because the thought of dancing with a bridesmaid who batted her eyelashes at him was never appealing ).

“–I’m Marvin.”

Drawn out of his thoughts, Whizzer looks over at the man situated across the table again. So now he was going to try and be polite. Right. _Okay_.

“I didn’t ask.”

Marvin rolled his eyes and pointedly kept his focus on anything that wasn’t Whizzer. The way his fingers tightened around his glass clued Whizzer in on annoyance though, which he counted as a personal victory.

“I **_am_** , however, curious about why you’re here despite enjoying all this as much as you would getting teeth pulled, _Marvin_.”

That pulls a stunted chuckle from his drinking partner, which Whizzer quickly adds to his list of small personal victories. He’s allowed to take pride in getting a visibly morose man to smile a little, isn’t he?

“While it’s still none of your business, I’ll clue you in,” Marvin sighed, and Whizzer assumes he’s only being told this information because Marvin either doesn’t expect to see him ever again, that he’s too drunk to remember anything he’s told, or both.

 “See that kid over there?”

His finger briefly jabs at the awkward kid Whizzer’s been informed is the bride’s son, Jason. The kid looked as pained as Marvin had when being posed for a family portrait with his mother and stepfather. Whizzer nods to show he sees Jason, who’s busy watching relatives dance with a wholly uninterested look on his face.

“He’s my son.”

Gawking, Whizzer nearly spits out the sip of champagne he’d just taken in. 

“You’re the bride’s _ex-husband_ and you’re attending her wedding?”

Marvin nods.

“And the groom was my psychiatrist for almost five years.”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Whizzer breathes, entertained grin spreading across his face. This was **far** better than any gossip he could’ve gotten from any middle aged women huddled around a table.

“So I have to wait around until this is over so I can take Jason home,” Marvin finishes explaining, and if there was an award for who had it worst between them, Whizzer reluctantly would have handed it to the poor sucker.

“So, you didn’t even bother bringing a date? Or are you your kid’s plus one?”

 _Real subtle,_ Whizzer pats himself on the back, _way to go_. But Marvin’s looking over at him with interest, so maybe being forward with this guy was they way to go. Whatever worked, really. It was about time he actually enjoyed a wedding he attended. So long as he didn’t miss any slow dancing, he’d be in good shape. While starting anything with the bride’s ex-husband at her wedding didn’t seem like the sensible thing to do, it was a decent distraction and 

“Didn’t have anyone to bring,” Marvin admits with an uncomfortable shrug of his shoulders, eyes trailing back down to Whizzer’s exposed skin, face flushed with alcohol that suggested he was far less indiscreet when sober, “You?”

“Well, the wedding photographer doesn’t usually _get_ a plus one,” Whizzer responded flatly, and Marvin raised his eyebrows as he leans against the table top to minimize the distance between them.

“ _You’re_ the wedding photographer? Damn, I was sure you were just some sort of friend or distantly related cousin or something. So you’re actually getting something out of this thing.”

“Have to give these two credit, they pay well,” Whizzer allows, “If I could, I’d find a psychiatrist of my own. They make a shit-ton of money.”

Marvin’s features crinkle with disdain as he looks from Whizzer to the groom, as if the concept was something grotesque.

“They’re not the **only** ones who make good money,” he insists, to Whizzer’s amusement.

“Are you trying to imply that _you_ make good money, Marv?”

“Don’t call me that,” Marvin grumbled, but lifted his chin defensively, “And yes, actually, I do.”

“Well, whatever bridesmaid you wind up dancing with later will be _thrilled_ to hear it,” Whizzer muttered dismissively, raising his glass to his lips as he waited for Marvin to snatch at the bait he’d left dangling in front of his nose.

“Bridesmaid? What makes you think I’ll be dancing with a bridesmaid later?”

“Oh _please_ , every guy who shows up to these things without a date is looking to bang a bridesmaid. Though, looking at your options, I can’t say you’ve got a great selection to pick from. Especially if they all know who are you are,” Whizzer rambled, twirling his hand in the air, elbow propped on the table. Marvin scoffed and leaned against the back of his seat.

“I’m just here for my kid. Trust me, none of those women have any interest in me, and I have _**zero**_ interest in any of them.”

“So you’d rather screw the best man,” Whizzer concludes, gesturing to one of Mendel’s old doctor friends from school who had agreed to play the part of best man at the last second. Marvin chokes and glares at him across the table.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Well you’re either gay or you’re hung up on your ex-wife. But it doesn’t seem like the latter’s the case, _so–_ ”

“I think you ought to mind your own damn business,” Marvin hisses, glancing around to ensure no one has overheard anything or was looking their way, “What’s it to you, anyways?”

“Well, someone who’s hung up over his ex-wife doesn’t usually bat eyelashes at the **handsome** wedding photographer.”

“Well, you’re less of a sore sight than the best man,” Marvin relents with antipathy, pointedly looking away.

“Fair enough. That guy looks constipated. No amount of money he’s got could make that seem attractive,” Whizzer jeers, and feels that spike of pride make a reprise when Marvin muffles a laugh with his hand.

It becomes a game, seeing how far he could push at Marvin before he snapped and repairing it with a snide remark at someone else’s expense to get a smile or laugh out of him so conversation to continue. There’s a few moments where Whizzer’s almost convinced to drop all responsibilities and go for it then and there, with the way Marvin’s looking at him with more starved lust than he’s seen in a long time. There’s plenty of questions that have gone unanswered, like what happened with his ex-wife and how new this whole _being into men_ thing is for Marvin, but Whizzer’s looking for some fun, not a sob story.

At one point, and even he’s not entirely sure what possesses him to do it, Whizzer has lifted his camera and snapped a picture of Marvin in a moment of distraction– through his lens Whizzer freezes time for just a second. He can see Marvin sitting there, empty glass trapped by fingers that tapped impatiently against its surface as attention is enraptured by a laughing Trina and her adoring husband as a relative neither knew a name for put on a show. The click of the camera catches Marvin by surprise, and he demands an explanation from a grinning Whizzer.

“Hey, I’m being paid to capture the day. Wouldn’t be complete without the scowling ex-husband, now would it?”

It isn’t until slow music begins to fill the hall, and Mendel’s leading his new wife onto the floor that Whizzer’s attention is back on the couple. Camera is raised and snapping shots of the newlyweds dancing in seconds, and the undiluted adoration they look at each other is enough to make Whizzer’s stomach churn. He’s _not_ looking for anything like that, he reminds himself. He can’t _have_ something like that. It’s almost a minute into the dance before his arms tire and he slowly lowers the camera to watch, attempting to ignore the goosebumps that prick at his skin at the thought of ever being in their place. For the first time that night, he _really_ feels like shit, which **_really_** wasn’t fair.

He’s so deep in his rare bout of self-pity that barely registers that Marvin’s gotten out of his seat and is offering him a hand. Whizzer blinks, brow furrowing. He _can’t_ be serious. This was the guy who just a few songs ago was singing the tune of denial. Romantic hadn’t been a quality Whizzer had been able to pick out from their conversation, but it’s a pleasant surprise.

“You’re kidding, right?”

A mixture of offense and hurt muddle Marvin’s features, but the extended hand isn’t withdrawn.

“No,” he replies with indignation, “Just figured you’d look less like you were having teeth pulled if you actually got off your ass and _did_ something. If you’d rather dance with Margaret Abelman, I’m sure she’d be delighted. I’ve got to warn you, though, she steps on toes, and–”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up, I’m getting up,” Whizzer interrupted as he got to his feet and set his camera down to take Marvin’s hand, “Just _stop talking._ ”

Turns out, Marvin’s the one who steps on toes, but they compromise by just swaying in place for a bit. Their hands fit together nicely, and together they find a way to stay in time with the music while they swayed there on the dance floor. It’s odd, and Marvin’s visibly uneasy and refuses to look anywhere but at Whizzer in fear of what he’ll see in the faces of the people he knows, but Whizzer has to admit that a small part of him is enjoying it. He’s just glad that no one notices when they emerge from the bathroom later in the night, slightly disheveled after **_really_** enjoying themselves.

All things considered, it’s one of the better weddings he’s worked. 

 


	4. The New Neighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brand new neighbors au

Whizzer Brown doesn’t do house warming anything. He doesn’t do _home_. He has a place of his own, he sleeps theres sometimes, spends the rest of his time either in the studio or in other people’s apartments, that’s all. His interior design is consistently minimalistic; undeniably stylish, but easy to pack up should he desire to move again. Because if there’s one thing he does ridiculously well it’s disappearing.

He disappeared from his parent’s lives, any friends he used to have he’d cut ties with, and any man who tried to keep him too long was suddenly waking up to an empty bed, if he even stayed long enough for his most recent screw to catch his breath let alone fall asleep in the first place. Whizzer didn’t do strings, he didn’t do messy, and he certainly didn’t do commitment. The concept made his insides curl uneasily and left him feeling the itch under his skin he could now recognize as the need to run. Fight or flight had turned into fight _and_ flight.

Funnily enough, the same feeling overcame him the moment the man he could only assume was his next door neighbor smiled politely in his direction. Key still hovering by the lock to his apartment door, the man had taken notice as Whizzer slipped out of his own apartment, shrugging a blazer across his shoulders and tapping at an apparently broken wristwatch. He was supposed to meet a client at the studio in an hour or so, and he had to be set up for when they came for their portrait session– set up usually took a while, so he was pressed for time.

“Good morning.”

Dear Lord, please not the hell that is small talk.

Whizzer flashed an effortless grin in his vain attempt at appearing well mannered, pulling out his key from his blazer pocket and busying himself with locking his door. The hope that his neighbor would get the hint that he was busy and very much headed out the door to something important via seamless motion was keeping his hands occupied.

“Morning.”

The clipped tone should have helped that notion. Unfortunately, his neighbor only watched him with intent and something akin to interest that Whizzer could identify without having to try– it was a look of attraction. _Well_ then.

“I’m Marvin,” a hand was extended for him to shake, clearly not getting the ‘I’m-in-a-rush-and-don’t-have-time-to-talk’ vibe Whizzer was desperately trying to give off, “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m new,” and as tempting as it was to ignore the offered hand, Whizzer shook it anyway.

“You got Saul’s place, then, huh?”

“Saul?”

“Lived here before you moved in. He’d been talking about leaving for years.”

“What, is the place haunted or something?” Whizzer responded dryly, piquing an eyebrow as his door finally locked with a satisfying click. Marvin snorts and shakes his head, adjusting his tie.

“Not that I know of, but he might have bored a few people to death in there.”

From what he can gather, if his neighbor’s sour tone didn’t give it away, Marvin and Saul weren’t exactly friends. As much as Whizzer loved being in on any and all forms of gossip, this ~~probably~~ petty feud between two men didn’t exactly intrigue him. It was probably because he was preoccupied by the fact that he was definitely going to be late.

“Lovely. Now, I need to go. I’ll see you around, Marvin.”

Without waiting to listen to any goodbyes or protests, Whizzer callously takes his leave in stride. Thankfully, he catches his train and makes it to the shoot just in time to set up before clients showed up. Despite not actually missing anything, he is determinedly still annoyed by his neighbor. There was a reason he hadn’t spoken to anyone already. They became strings he didn’t want attached to him.

—

Marvin’s left standing in front of the door to his apartment, fiercely offended by being brushed off so rudely as well as being dead set against admitting he was even a little attracted to his gorgeous new neighbor. Even while he’s going through the motions he’s fallen into since moving here two years ago, he’s mulling over the brief interaction.

Sure, maybe bringing up past differences with Saul wasn’t the best conversation piece, but what else was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to pretend he knew nothing about his last neighbor? Do people not usually know their neighbors? Pausing in the middle of the process of washing his dishes, Marvin realizes with a start that he never even got the name of the man he’d been thinking about for hours. Which was _dumb_. He shouldn’t be thinking about this guy. Did that make him creepy, being so stuck on his new neighbor? No, no of course not. It’s not like he was doing anything about it.

But when finds himself stepping out of his door a couple of weeks later to look over and see his young neighbor dressed in next to nothing, he’s frozen in place with a slack jaw. Because now he does want to do something about the funny feeling fluttering around in his gut. He’s not known for being wholly rational, anyways. He is known for having a little more dignity than this, however, and he flounders for a moment when caught staring. Instead of earning himself a look of disgust or unease from the attractive stranger, the man rakes a hand through unkempt hair and flashes a knowing smile in Marvin’s direction before disappearing behind his door again.

Marvin probably stands there for a solid five minutes after he’s gone, trying to recollect his thoughts. It takes him another two weeks to gather the nerve to ask the rude attractive guy out on a date. At that point, thankfully, he’d wheedled a name out of the man after a few pitiful attempts at conversation whenever they happened to be headed in or out of their respective apartments at the same time and some help from Cordelia who had brought some containers of food to Whizzer as a housewarming gift a few days after he’d moved in. He was rusty at this whole thing– and didn’t have the best track record, either. But the response isn’t what he’d expected.

“What took you so damn long?”

Not horribly thrown by the lackluster response, but still defensive for his pride’s sake, Marvin folds his arms across his chest, any prior hesitance falling away.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You’ve been ogling me for days, it was starting to get weird. And kinda creepy,” Whizzer replies as he leans against the doorframe, “Honestly, after the third round of ‘standing in the doorway conversations’, I was starting to wonder if you were actually queer and I was just wasting my time.”

“Well, depending on what your answer is, you’re wasting _my_ time now,” Marvin retorts with an edge that thinly veiled his wounded pride.

It elicits a knee-weakening smirk from one Whizzer Brown that he takes as a reward. So he liked a guy who could wield a smart mouth like his own– Marvin could work with that.

“Lucky for you, I don’t have plans Thursday night. So if you ever want to do something more than stare at me, that would be the time to do it.”

Marvin’s in the process of opening his mouth to ask what time he should be over when Whizzer’s closed the door on him, smug smile still sitting comfortably on his lips.

—

Said smile drops from his face the moment the door shuts with a satisfying click. What the _fuck_ did he just agree to? Marvin seems fine, interested if nothing else, and Whizzer’s already gathered that the man must have a decent amount of money to his name– but what was he thinking actually agreeing to a date? He doesn’t do dates. Granted, maybe he should if asked, since it ensures he gets a free meal or movie or something out of the deal, but still. Still. Dates meant something was expected of him. It meant the possibility of strings, which was the last thing he wanted.

All he’s known until now were one-night flings or bathroom flings or any kind of fling that didn’t amount to anything or matter. They were occasionally satisfying and he was drunk enough to enjoy himself for the majority of the time, and he knew how to play that game. Legitimate dates were out of his understanding or range of patience. They were time consuming, and because he lived next to this guy, he’d either have to move or put the effort in to pointedly ignore him for the rest of his time in this building. Or maybe, wishful thinking here, Marvin won’t expect anything to come of this. Maybe he’s just looking for a fling and just doesn’t know how to do it any other way that doesn’t involve a date. That could definitely be possible. Definitely.

Because dates meant attachment and obligations and Whizzer didn’t care for any of that, nor did he have the time for it. So when Thursday finally rolls around and Marvin comes knocking on his door, he makes a point of letting Marvin know exactly that. And maybe his words come out a little too fast and betray his air of nonchalance just a smidgen. Just maybe.

“Look, I don’t do this whole date thing so if you want to cut to the chase and just come inside and–– wait, okay, I can’t do this,” he stops and pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand while the other sticks to his waist in a show of disbelief, “I can’t believe you actually thought wearing that on a date was going to impress anyone, let alone _me_.”

Marvin stares at him with clear offense before glancing down at himself, as though he’d truly believed there was absolutely nothing wrong with the frumpy excuse of a suit he donned. Whizzer was almost feeling physically nauseous just looking at it.

“Excuse me?”

“It looks like something you’d find on a rack at a suburban yard sale, Marvin.”

“Look,” Marvin hisses as he runs a hand through his hair, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “If you’re done tearing my outfit apart, I’ll take your offer up on coming in.”

“Take the suit jacket off and I’ll actually consider getting you a drink,” Whizzer retorts, but moves into his apartment and allows his disgruntled date inside. While Marvin removes the suit jacket, it’s done with the huffiness of a teenaged girl who was told she couldn’t go to the mall with her friends. Whizzer’s more or less amused, but definitely pleased that it’s off ( though he’d rather it not just be callously draped across the back of his nice sofa ).

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” Marvin states dryly, eyes scanning the scarcely decorated apartment; for someone so focused on style, Whizzer’s apartment felt very empty and lacking in the same vibrancy he dressed with. He didn’t even have a goddamn heater-- it was the middle of February. Whizzer’s in the process of pouring them both drinks, without having asked what the other man wanted, to Marvin’s chagrin, and scoffs while he replaces the bottle to the fridge.

“Don’t plan on sticking around for too long, so what’s the point in doing any decorating?” he justifies flatly, handing Marvin his glass. Eyebrows raise in a new kind of interest Whizzer can’t distinguish.

“You’re not staying?”

“Disappointed?”

Maybe a little, but the smug smile on Whizzer’s lips is just short of infuriating, so Marvin mirrors it and refuses to give him the satisfaction in answering it with a confirmation.

“Just surprised, is all. Usually when someone moves in here, they stay for a good number of years.”

“I get bored easily,” Whizzer explains before downing what’s in his glass without so much as a wince, “Don’t care for the ‘community’ thing. Never have a reason to stay in one spot for long.”

Marvin’s barely touched his drink, but has mentally forgotten about it entirely, staring at Whizzer, enraptured.

“So you’re looking for incentive.”

Whizzer raises a quizzical eyebrow and looks Marvin over warily. Marvin wasn’t asking, he was analyzing. And Whizzer Brown didn’t like being analyzed. It felt a lot like being under a microscope or trapped in a box, and neither felt comforting.

“I wouldn’t say ‘looking’, it’s just that nothing’s come my way,” he clarified as he places his empty glass on the counter, though Marvin’s expression didn’t shift. Looking for something to keep him in one place would be pathetic, it’d be like he was just waiting around to be swept off his feet or something. Like hell he was going to wait for some bullshit knight in shining armor.

Marvin sets his drink on the coffee table and moved forward in one swift motion to capture Whizzer in a kiss before the man can so much as complain about using a coaster. Without thinking, Whizzer moves his hands to wind around Marvin’s waist and deepens the kiss on the same autopilot he follows at bars. Marvin certainly doesn’t complain. But when he breaks for air, he flashes Whizzer an eager grin.

“I’ve waited to do that for _months_.”

“That’s the cheesiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Whizzer all but laughs, but grip doesn’t loosen.

“It’s not my fault you go get your paper in nothing but your underwear,” Marvin complains, but is already diving in for another kiss to prevent being insulted any further. They make it to the couch.

It leads to the first second ‘date’ Whizzer’s ever had. These ‘dates’ continue at Whizzer’s apartment for several months before they can both admit that it’d gotten just a tad out of hand. It’s not what Marvin had been going for at first, but it keeps Whizzer around longer than planned.

It’s probably a good thing Whizzer hadn’t started decorating, because a good four months later and he’s moving next door.


	5. Soulmates Don't Arrive Peacefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU for Marvin and Whizzer.

For as long as he can remember, Marvin’s had a name scrawled out along the nape of his neck. It’s almost illegible, more chicken scratch than handwriting, and for the longest time he had been absolutely puzzled by it. Granted, he’d heard coworkers chatting around the water cooler mention that it’d taken them a bit to decipher the name on their skin ( not always because their soulmate was destined to have horrific handwriting, but because their soulmate had a _painfully_ common name; he knew a man once who had already dated a _**plethora**_ of Jessicas ), but most had figured it out by their teenage years.

But regardless of any difficulties he had in figuring out what his soulmate’s name was, Marvin knew it wasn’t Trina. 

They’d met in college, and they had bonded quickly over the act of sharing notes from class. Almost inseparable, any time not spent in class was spent in each other’s dorm rooms. And he _did_ love her– just not in the romantic way he was almost desperate to feel at that point in his life. So when she drunkenly confesses her feelings for him while they sit in his off campus apartment during the middle of their junior year, he tells her they’re reciprocated in a last-ditch attempt to prove there wasn’t something wrong with him. He could have a girlfriend to introduce to his parents so his mother could stop fretting. But it got out of hand. It went too far, and a few months into their relationship Marvin knows for certain that he does not have romantic feelings for Trina. Her advances make him queasy and the thought of sleeping with her only bores him. He does what he has to satisfy, but it never satisfies him. He’d much rather just sleep beside her, as the feeling of having someone to hold and keep close to him was one he enjoyed.

He never shows her the name on the back of his neck. The name spelled out on her collarbone is almost as messily written as the one on Marvin’s skin, but an ‘M’ can be plainly made out.

Several more months later in their relationship and he’s standing before his aghast parents with sweaty palms and informing them he has to drop out of school because his girlfriend was pregnant. By this time, he had already resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to meet his soulmate. He’d be too busy raising a child and keeping a steady job and fighting to keep a woman he didn’t love satisfied to seek out whoever it was he was supposed to love. Jason comes, married life proves to be dreadfully dull but orderly enough that he can maintain it ( which is thoroughly enjoyed ), and his parents stop contact with him.

It isn’t until nine years later that he’s staring at a piece of paper with a man’s name and number written lazily across it that he feels the warm, fluttering kind of feeling in his gut he assumes is romantic attraction. It isn’t until he studies the handwriting and realizes why it looks familiar that he puts the pieces together. Whizzer Brown. _Whizzer_. _**That’s**_ the name etched into his skin. Upon checking, comparing the handwriting over and over again, it’s undeniable. Whizzer Brown, the obnoxiously handsome man with fantastic hair, sharp tongue, and impeccable body was his soulmate. A man was his soulmate. This fact sets him on a track full of blind lust and denial. He arranges meetings with Whizzer, hungrily sleeps with a man behind his wife’s back, starved for the kind of affection and attention he’d been depraved of until then. He always returns home to an apprehensive wife ( she _knows_ , she _knows_ there’s someone else; just not that it’s a **man** ) and a moody son as though nothing were amiss. 

Until Trina catches them in the den. It’s then that he cracks.

“What do you mean you _knew_ we weren’t supposed to last?”   


Trina’s voice is sharp and bordering on shrill. Marvin’s always detested when she gets shrill; it reminds him of a nagging mother he’s had hovering over his shoulder growing up. Whizzer’s already grabbed his jacket and left the house under Trina’s hysterical glare, so there’s no one there to blame. No one there to back him up, either.

“I mean that name on your arm isn’t _mine_. Your name isn’t on me. No amount of pretending is going to change that,” his voice is loud and he wishes she didn’t look as though he’d just slapped her across the face; he didn’t _want_ to pity her. Didn’t want the guilt that came with any of this mess. Trina takes a step away from him, bottom lip trembling as she strains, fighting for composure.  


“And _**his**_ name?”  


Her accusatory whisper is almost lost on him, but the silence had been deafening enough for him to pick up on it. Unable to vocalize any confirmation, Marvin can only nod.

“Show me,” it’s an order, non-negotiable. But when he hesitates, she adds more force to her tone, “ _Show me_ , Marvin.”  


With a heavy sigh, Marvin’s tugging his shirt collar down ( a few buttons have already come undone and his hair is disheveled enough to display the signature ) and showing her the name of his soulmate for the first time. She’s the first to see it, and the first person besides himself to know who it was.

The divorce is filed and they seperate with as clean a break as expected. Marvin moves in with Whizzer and tries to hang on to what is left of his family. They meet their new neighbors, who happen to be a doctor and caterer, and become fast friends. Marvin continues to see a psychiatrist, and eventually encourages Trina and Jason to do the same. It isn’t until halfway through one of his sessions that he glances over at Mendel’s notepad and makes a breakthrough: his handwriting looked _remarkably_ like that on Trina’s collarbone. Stubbornly, he refuses it could possibly be anything more than a coincidence until a marriage proposal is enacted and he has an invitation in his hand.

But Whizzer’s there to catch him when he catapults into a fit of rage over the ordeal. Whizzer, who knows how to be as sweet and mean as Marvin can be. There’s an even pull and push, a balance found in the dance they do; they fight, but the passion involved outweighs any lingering hard feelings. Tender moments are found in the night, in the way hands comb through hair soothingly as they absent-mindedly watch whatever show is on the TV that evening, in the way Whizzer nimbly ties Marvin’s tie every day before work even though Marvin half-heartedly grumbles about being a grown man who can tie his own damn tie. Grumbling is always sweetened by a kiss, leverage in the hands of his sleepy lover who only needs to give the tie a small tug to bring their faces together. He’d had ten years of monotony and routine, Marvin could use the kind of thrill Whizzer brought into his life. And with the certainty that comes with having a name attached to a face he knows is meant to be in his life, he can block out any voices claiming what they have is unnatural and wrong. If it were wrong, he wouldn’t have tangible proof from the universe that it was meant to be.

The fact that what they have is more liberating and fervent than anything Marvin has ever known before doesn’t make it feel any less permanent to him; the name on his skin is a constant reminder of that. So he’s not afraid to push further than he ought to, confident that nothing he could do would drive Whizzer away. No harsh words spit out, no forcing the other to bed or conform to roles, nothing he could do could be too much. There was no last straw when you were meant to be together.

Until suddenly, there was. A small spat over Marvin’s apparent inability to pick up after himself ( having a housewife to clean up his messes for a decade robbed him of any inclination to do it himself ) intensifies and soon harsh words and low blows are being shoved back and forth. It doesn’t take long for Whizzer to finally snap.

“I’m _done_.”  


Despite the amount of venom in his lover’s voice, Marvin finds himself scoffing– it wasn’t uncommon for that type of bluffing to occur. They both did their fair share of threatening to leave the other when wrapped up in a fight.

“You said that last week,” he reminds livid partner, condescendingly, “and yet here you are.”  


“Not for much longer.”  


Suddenly things are being stuffed in a suitcase, and Marvin feels his safety net snap and crumple at his feet. Certainty falters as he shadows the taller man who was busily folding nicely ironed shirts with a furrowed brow. Eyes fall to where his name is plainly scrawled out on his lover’s upper arm like a cheap tattoo, reassuring himself.

“You’re overreacting, Whizzer. Now knock it off so we ca–”  


Attempt to smooth things over is cut short by a finger being jabbed in his direction.

“ _Don’t_. Don’t you _**dare**_ try and tell me I’m overreacting. I said I was done, and I _mean_ it. Have fun trying to find someone else who’ll put up with your shit. I’ve had enough of it.”  


Suitcase is snapped shut and in his hand and he’s heading to the door and Marvin can’t hear himself think anymore as he follows close behind.

“ _Whizzer–_ ”  


Whizzer stops, and for a moment Marvin’s thankful, but then the man is spinning on his heel, hand pulling the apartment key from his pocket and shoving it at Marvin’s chest.

“Here’s to hoping the next Marvin is less of an asshole.”  


And the door is slammed in his face, the force of it almost enough to send him stumbling backwards if he weren’t too busy scooping the key from the floor where it had clattered. Hands tremble, and for once he’s not sure if rage or devastation is the cause of it. Feet guide him to the sofa where he plops down, still staring at the key clutched between fingers whitened by pressure.

He’d never considered there _could_ be another Marvin. He didn’t think another Whizzer could exist in this world. He didn’t _want_ any other Whizzers, even if there could possibly be another. He’d been so sure. How **_dumb_** had he been to push so far?

Cordelia hesitantly knocks and pokes her head in a few minutes later, and he doesn’t have to ask to know she’d heard everything from the other side of the ( notoriously thin ) wall their apartments shared. She places a comforting hand on his shoulder and doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t offer false hope, doesn’t try and bring up the possibility that Whizzer might come back soon. She just stays beside him as he nurses wounded pride and heart. This was what a broken heart felt like. It hurt a hell of a lot more than he expected it to; then again, he hadn’t expected to have it broken after finding the person he was supposed to spend his life with. Cordelia presses a kiss to the top of his head and extends an invitation for him to join her and Charlotte that night. He declines and pours himself a drink after the door closes behind her. Tries to ignore how empty the place feels without Whizzer’s belongings occupying it. Tries to ignore the ache in his heart. Doesn’t bother tossing the unfinished glass of whatever hard drink Whizzer had poured for himself earlier, allowing it to sit on the end table before Cordelia cleans it one day when she’s over.

He pretends not to hear the infatuated laughter bubbling through the wall at any given moment whenever Charlotte’s home.

He pretends not to notice the way the pair tiptoe around him after that night, afraid anything they do or say could set him off. It takes a week or so for that to ebb away and for them to regard him normally again.

He pretends not to notice the way Jason’s face falls when he comes for his weekend stay to find Whizzer was absent.

He pretends not to notice how quiet the apartment is without Whizzer living in it.

He pretends that his heart isn’t racing in his chest every time someone knocks on the door; likewise, he pretends he isn’t sorely disappointed when the person standing at his door isn’t who he hoped it was.

By the time he’s finally stopped having to pretend, months later, he gets a phone call and the voice on the other end of the phone makes his heart stop altogether.

“–Jason?”  


Floundering for a moment, Marvin tries to recollect his thoughts, hand immediately raising to rub against the nape of his neck ( a habit he’s picked up since his ex-lover left ).

“Marvin, actually.”  


Unintelligible curse is muttered distantly from the other end of the line, and it doesn’t take much hard thinking to figure out what had happened. Jason had always liked to meddle, and he’d always liked Whizzer. Naturally, Marvin found it difficult to be surprised by the set up. Whizzer, on the other hand, clearly hadn’t expected it.

“Sorry, Jason gave me the number saying he had something important to talk about. Guess I should’ve put the pieces together.”  


“When did you see Jason?”  


“Passed him on my way to catch a train the other day.”  


The curtness with which he’s answered reminds him of the way Trina still speaks to him, and Marvin can’t stomach it. He’s been painfully lonely since Whizzer walked out, despite Charlotte and Cordelia’s best efforts and Jason’s company on the weekends. It gave him perspective– it taught him a lesson. He just didn’t know how to verbalize it in the form of a apology. All he knows is that he wants Whizzer back, that he’s _supposed_ to get Whizzer back. And if he’s been in the area, close enough to bump into Jason on the boy’s commute from home to home, then he couldn’t be too far now.

He hears Whizzer clear his throat, and can tell a hasty goodbye was on the tip of the other’s tongue. So to prevent another parting, he allows his filter to drop for just a weak moment.

“Come back?”  


It’s unclear to him whether the noise made is a disbelieving scoff or muffled laughter, but either way, his palm is starting to sweat and it’s making holding the receiver uncomfortable.

“Marvin, I said–”  


“I know,” Marvin stops him, eyes screwed tightly shut, “I _know_. But there _isn’t_ another Marvin. There’s not going to _be_ another Marvin. I’m what you’re stuck with. Because I know, for a fact, that there’s not going to be another Whizzer in my life. Even if one happened to show up out of the blue one day, I’d know he couldn’t compare to you.”  


A sound he definitely can identify as a laugh graces his ear.

“Jesus, that’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard.”  


“You know it’s true,” Marvin counters, perhaps a little too defensively. Thankfully, Whizzer doesn’t seem to mind or try to dispute the fact.  


“Look, this payphone is about to time out and I don’t have any more change on me. I’ll come over, but I’m not making any promises about staying.”  


“Fine. That’s fine,” Marvin is quick to agree to any terms laid down, whatever got Whizzer Brown back through his door, “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”  


“Thanks,” Whizzer says, tone calculated to convey only minimal gratitude; the fact that he was phoning from a pay phone was enough to let Marvin know he’d been without a steady housing situation since he left. Whizzer was probably just staying with different men for as long as he deemed suitable before taking off and continuing the pattern he’d been living in when he met Marvin. The fact that he didn’t have change to spare was the second red flag, and two was all Marvin needed to know that the time apart hadn’t been easy on either of them.  


Connection is severed and Marvin busies himself with tidying the apartment up, wanting to avoid being subjected to any snide remarks about being unable to take care of himself or being incapable of cleaning up after himself. He’d learned a thing or two in the past few months; it’d been the first time he lived on his own since marrying Trina.

Whizzer doesn’t knock before entering, and Marvin nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice appears out of nowhere.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”  


“I moved a lamp,” Marvin chuckles, turning to face the man who’d confidently walked right into his apartment, suitcase hooked on a finger and slung over his shoulder.  


“And to a dreadful spot, too.”  


Suitcase is set on the floor, jacket draped across its top as Whizzer scans the apartment for any other new arrangements. Finding none, his gaze settles on Marvin.

“There’s a pitiful amount of Marvins in this city.”  


“You think you’ve got it bad? Try finding another _Whizzer_.”  


Whizzer cracks a smile and shakes his head, and Marvin’s tempted to close the distance between them right then and there and kiss him, but refrains for the sake of taking things slowly.

“You look good,” he settles on, which turns Whizzer’s smile into something more smug; he doesn’t miss the fondness that softens what used to be sharp, though.  


“You’re not looking bad yourself, old man.”  


“Where’ve you been?”  


“Around,” Whizzer mutters, averting his gaze, but when an unsatisfied Marvin raises an eyebrow to prompt more of an answer, he relents, “I’ve been circulating between boroughs. Haven’t gone too far, though. Just in case I picked up a client or something.”  


“So you’ve been haven’t been working?”  


“I couldn’t even keep a _payphone_ going, Marvin. I can barely pay the rent on the studio. How do _**you**_ think business is going?” Irritability hangs over Whizzer’s frame tangibly, and Marvin decides to dance around the subject best he can.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want, if that’s any consolation.”  


“Careful, Marv,” Whizzer teases, moving closer with his hands shoved in his pockets, glad for the redirection of conversation, “You’re starting to sound desperate.”  


“Can you blame me? I mean, really, it’s unfair having you here and being unable to do anything about it,” he muses, eyes unabashedly raking across Whizzer’s pristine figure.  


“I _am_ remarkably irresistible,” Whizzer allows with an amused smirk, close enough that it’s really really tempting for Marvin to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him even closer.  


“One of your better traits.”  


“Well, you’re stuck with all my traits whether you like it or not,” Whizzer concludes, wrapping his fingers around Marvin’s loosened tie, “Aren’t you?”  


Marvin blinks, brain crashing and frantically rebooting; Whizzer had never addressed their relationship with any permanence before. He’d never brought up the fact that what they had was supposed to be forever, dictated by the signatures on their skin. The only time he’d come close to acknowledging it was when he was throwing his key at Marvin on his way out. But now, he’s looking at Marvin with a new kind of penchant expression he’s never donned before, and it both thrills and bewilders him. If he’s supposed to be cautious with this sudden change of view, wary of Whizzer’s intentions, he’s doing a poor job of it.

“Guess so,” he finally manages to reply, and before he can think of anything wittier, Whizzer’s tugging on his tie and their lips are pressed together like they’re supposed to be, and all forms of intelligent thought have left his brain.  


As right and wonderful as the kiss feels, something about it feels forced. And painfully, Marvin breaks away to look a confused Whizzer in the eye.

“You don’t have to do this.”  


“What are you talking about, Marvin?” Whizzer’s eyebrows knot and he’s leaning away, and Marvin wants nothing more than to close the gap they’re in the process of making, but needs the air to clear first.  


“This is how you’ve been living, isn’t it? Going from man to man? I don’t--”  


“Marvin, stop,” Whizzer shushes him, mild annoyance crinkling pretty features, “I know you never approved of the whole ‘sleeping around to have a fucking roof over my head’ thing, but that’s not what this is. I appreciate you letting me stay, don’t get me wrong, but if I genuinely wanted nothing from you aside from a place to stay, I would’ve hung up as soon as I realized it was you on the phone. I wouldn’t have even bothered continuing to talk to you. Now, unless you need more reassurance, I’d like to get back to kissing, if that’s okay.”  


It was enough for Marvin, and they _definitely_ went back to kissing.

Whizzer stays and Marvin doesn’t have to pretend that everything was alright anymore; it genuinely was alright-- _better_ than alright, it was **_fantastic_**. Jason lights up when he comes for the weekend, Cordelia and Charlotte are delighted to pick up Friday Night Dinners again, and in Marvin’s opinion, things are better now than they ever were before their temporary split. It was exactly how he’d expected life to be when it was spent with a person’s soulmate. What they shared suddenly resembled the bliss he so often saw in what their neighbors unashamedly displayed, doctor’s chicken scratch imprinted upon caterer’s forearm, caterer’s flowery signature decorating doctor’s right shoulder blade. They spend free afternoons at the New York Health and Racquet Club, competitiveness brought out of them both in the form of teasing grins and touches. They learn to be tender, they learn to channel their passion and make it something thrilling and loving. It felt electrifying and compassionate and everything Marvin had hoped it would. It felt like he’d been told it should.

But no one told him what he was supposed to do when, suddenly, your soulmate is unable to be there for the remainder of your life. What do you do when your soulmate is wasting away in a hospital bed, and you can’t do anything but stay at their side and hold tightly to their hand? Are you expected to pick yourself up off the ground in front of their grave and carry on like part of you isn’t missing?

Part of him expects the name to disappear. Another part expects a new name to take its place. The rest of him prays it doesn’t go anywhere. Let it remain, let it haunt him, let it remind him that he had something, _someone_ , special and was cheated by the Universe. He was cheated out of more nights wrapped in a lover’s embrace, cheated out of more languid kisses on lazy mornings, cheated out of having someone he had waited so long for at his side for the endurance of his life. He was _**promised**_ that. He was promised all those things, and it was ripped away from him without warning and no explanation.

If Whizzer hadn’t taken his resolve and fight with him, Marvin would’ve demanded answers. But he doesn’t. He can barely look Charlotte in the eye when he passes her while leaving the apartment to deposit flowers on lover’s grave, let alone point a finger in her direction and demand an explanation. Instead he nurses his grieving heart and tries everything he can to keep the man he loved as vibrant and animated as he had been when they first met that way in his memory. And he waits.

He waits until the save virus takes him, because at least the Universe had taken pity on him and hadn’t made him live too much longer without his soulmate. Because as much as he loved his son and the family that had formed around his child, a person wasn’t supposed to be without their other half. A puzzle couldn’t really be complete if it was missing a piece. He couldn’t keep himself sustained without Whizzer Brown at his side.

All is forgiven though, any grudges he held against the Universe are forgotten, the moment he locks gazes with a familiar face when pain subsides. Because he’s no longer in a bed wasting away, he’s standing in front of one Whizzer Brown who looks the picture of perfect health and grinning at him. It takes him no time at all to initiate closing the distance between them, arms wrapping around Whizzer’s neck and clinging to him for all it was worth. Whizzer’s arms wrap around his waist and hold him in place, face buried in the crook of Marvin’s neck, watery laugh bubbling past his lips.

“Guess ‘‘til death do us part’ doesn’t mean _shit_ to the Universe,” Whizzer murmurs into his skin, and Marvin can’t help but laugh through the tears staining his cheeks.  


There’s no way this can be taken away. _This_ was the forever they were promised. And god help the Universe if it tried to take it away from him again.


	6. In Academic Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part 2 to the High School AU I wrote a few chapters back! There's been a time jump, but if anyone wants any specific points from the AU, comment and let me know!

“This coffee is _shit_.”

Marvin raises an eyebrow as he glances up from his textbook, situated across the small coffeehouse table from his date. Whizzer sits there, varsity jacket sleeves pulled over his hands, which were wrapped around his cup as he wore a dissatisfied pout on his lips. He reminds Marvin of Mendel’s five-year-old sister; their pouts were scarily similar.

“Well our regular place is closed. We had to make due.”

As soon as Marvin’s nose is buried back into his book, Whizzer’s whining again.

“There was another place just a few more doors down. I’ve heard better things about them.”

“Whizzer, they charge like ten bucks for a medium coffee. It’s ridiculously overpriced,” Marvin retorts, giving his boyfriend an exasperated look that warned against further distraction.

“You say _everything_ is ridiculously overpriced.”

“That’s not true!”

“You complained about the price of the _cafeteria food_ once, Marvin. If you go to public school, you know you’re signing up for shit food. It’s just part of the package!”

“Exactly! So why do they have to charge so much for it?”

“I’m not getting into public school politics with you right now,” Whizzer stops the budding argument with a weary smile and shake of his head, “Besides, it won’t be your problem once you finish with finals.”

A funny expression crosses through Marvin’s features at the mention of the end of his senior, which was coming fast. He’d been studying nonstop for upcoming finals, and had already chosen what school he’d be attending in the fall. Or, well, his _parents_ had chosen what school he’d be attending in the fall; he’d had little say in the matter. That was fine by him, it took a little bit of pressure off his shoulders. But he was finding that the cons of his current situation were beginning to outweigh the pros; pros and cons lists were important. And right now, the only pros were that he’d be backed by his parents and on the right track for a stable life and career. Which, he’ll admit, aren’t bad pros to have on a list together. But the cons featured being far away from his best friends, far away from _Whizzer_ ( who still had another year of high school to finish up, and had yet to be introduced to Marvin’s parents ), and the possibility of hating his life without all of the above, it all loomed over his head. 

Rebuilding all he had now would be a tedious process and his life had been dictated for so long that he’s not sure what he wants anymore. It feels horribly cliche, this kind of internal conflict, but he’d readily assure you that it’s _very_ real and _incredibly_ terrifying. Trying to find someone like Whizzer at a stuffy school would be impossible; finding friends who brought out the better parts of him would be a challenge to find again as well. He’ll be stressed out of his mind over schoolwork, and will have to suffocate through stiff meetings and events with egotistical jerks with money. Success and wealth of his own were damn appealing, and disappointing his parents was without a doubt the most catastrophic thing that could ever happen in Marvin’s mind ( hence the _not telling them about Whizzer_ ), so voicing his struggle didn’t seem to be something that was on the table.

“Yeah. Just gotta get past finals.”

Nose dives back to pages of math, and Whizzer takes notice. Because of course Whizzer notices. Whizzer always notices. 

“What?”

Marvin peeks back up, face pinched with confusion.

“What do you mean  _‘what’_?”

“C’mon, spill. You’ve got The Look on your face.”

“There’s no ‘look’, Whizzer,” Marvin denies with the disgruntled noise a person might make when disturbed from a nice sleep, “I’m just trying to focus. Finals, remember?”

Before he can duck his head back down, pencil is deftly plucked from his fingers.

“ _–Hey!_ ”

“ _Marvin_.”

“Give me my pencil back. I have work to do,” hand is held out expectantly, but Whizzer just tucks it behind his ear.

“Until you tell me why you look constipated, your pencil is being held hostage.”

Marvin scowls, and remains spitefully silent for a solid two minutes. Whizzer patiently sipped at his Shit Coffee, a nonverbal ‘I can wait _all_ day’. For a moment Marvin’s tempted to snap his book shut and walk out of the coffeeshop altogether. It would reflect poorly if he didn’t do well on these finals, and he couldn’t blow it now that he was so close to being done ( and at the top of his class, too )! Personal shit couldn’t get in the way, and stupid charming Whizzer Brown shouldn’t be in his way, either. But part of him, the part not run by anger and dictated by his parents, knew this was how Whizzer showed he cared. He listened. Marvin had to give him credit for that much, his boyfriend listened, and listened well. He was responsive, and wouldn’t hesitate calling him out. It was exactly what Marvin needed, especially at this point in time.

But how does he look Whizzer in the eye and tell him he’s afraid of what comes next? How does he tell him that it might have to all have to end? How does he phrase it all without having to watch it all fall apart before him, knowing he caused it? How was he supposed to do that after he’s already told Whizzer Brown he loved him?

He _did_ love him. Falling in love with him had been a slippery slope since their first date in the coffee shop that had become their go-to date spot now ( but was unfortunately closed now due to renovation reasons ). The first time he’d caused Whizzer to laugh, genuinely and loudly and with the vibrancy of sunshine, he’d been compelled to tell him then and there. But instead, he’d waited until the literal cheesiest moment in the world: during the slow dance at prom. Granted, it was the only moment they technically spent together, as they’d each taken Charlotte and Cordelia, as none of them had been able to take the person they wanted to. It’d mainly been for show for parents, though they all spent the night as a group until the slow dancing started. At that point, after giving their date a bit of a dance, each twirled their partners to the person they genuinely wanted to come with and had a little time to themselves.

It’d been nice, lights dimmed and some cheesy acoustic song playing through the speakers, with Whizzer’s arms draped around his neck looking Too Nice in his suit with his Stupid Perfect Smile. They’d been swaying, and after murmuring something that made Whizzer laugh, the words had just tumbled out of his mouth. And when varsity star Whizzer Brown gently brought their foreheads together with a dazzling smile and repeated the words back to him, nothing had ever felt so exhilarating.

But now that they were nearing the end of the academic year, Marvin’s wishing he’d said it sooner, just in case he wasn’t going to get more chances to say it.

“I don’t want it to end.”

Words are vague, but true, and Whizzer looks both understanding but confused at the same time.

“ _What_ don’t you want to end? Finals? Headache-inducing amounts of homework? You’re still gonna get all of the above at college, you nerd,” Whizzer attempts to move inquiries along with humor.

Marvin rolls his eyes and struggles to scrape words together coherently.

“No. I know that. It’s just– _this_. I don’t want **_this_** to end. Being with you, being around Charlotte and Cordelia and the others. Being around what’s familiar and comfortable. I don’t like change.”

“I’ve noticed that about you.”

“I’m serious, Whiz,” Marvin snaps his book shut and almost spills his coffee in the process, eyes narrowing, “I know college is supposed to be what sets me up for this… _perfect_ life I’m supposedly going to lead someday, and that it’s typically the most exciting time of people’s lives, but the idea is just starting to freak me out.”

Whizzer nods, previous snark entirely removed from his demeanor.

“The idea of leaving all this behind is what freaks me out most. Success isn’t scary, but being alone _is_. Charlotte’s going to be an hour away, and Trina and Mendel are both going straight to work, and you and Delia have another year here–”

“And we’re hours away,” Whizzer finishes for him, face blank enough that it was hard to read.

“Yeah,” Marvin nods, trying to fight the lump in his throat, “I’ll be so far away from everyone.”

 _From you_ , goes unspoken.

“It sucks,” Whizzer says bluntly, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a swig of his coffee, “But you’re smart, Marvin. And when you’re that kind of smart, everybody wants to be your friend.”

“Just like _everybody_ wanted to be my friend in high school?” Marvin raises an eyebrow, disbelief lacing his tone.

“You never _spoke_ to anyone in high school. And you never went out, either, so naturally you weren’t going to get invited to parties and shit. But I finally got you to loosen up, so it should be less of a problem for you now.”

“I’m not going to know where the parties are without you around to keep me in the loop,” Marvin retorts to Whizzer’s fresh amusement.

“I think you’ll survive. Besides, knowing you, you’ll be buried in books regardless of any invitations extended to you.”

“If I’m going to be paying a ridiculous amount to go to this school, I’m going to do all my work and to the best of my ability. That’ll require copious amounts of studying.”

“Is that what you want?”

Taken aback by the question, Marvin’s brow creases as he stares at his boyfriend incredulously.

“What do you mean?”

“Is that what you want? Being cooped up in a room, feeling pressured and miserable because it’s what you’re told to do?”

“I never said anything about pressure or being miserable. Besides, I made my choice. It’s way too late to back out of anything now.”

Whizzer seems unconvinced, and appears tempted to say so, but instead elects to purse his lips and nod.

“Okay.”

Marvin’s seen his fair share of this behavior, and while it usually annoys him, it only puts him on the defensive now. He doesn’t enjoy being doubted, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy being treated as though he’s anyone’s inferior. He’s smart, and won’t tolerate being given the treatment one might give a five year old who’d just babbled on about nothing.

“What? Don’t give me that look, you’ve got something to say. So spill it.”

“I’m just saying,” Whizzer begins slowly, raising his hands in his own defense, “It wasn’t much of a choice on your part. I can’t blame you for not being super thrilled about what comes next.”

“And what’s _your_ plan for what comes next?”

Whizzer stiffens, eyebrows knitting. Marvin knew there was very little to his plan. Marvin knew what his plan consisted of. Hell, Marvin had helped him shape half his plan.

“Hope for some sort of track-based scholarship,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders, feigning nonchalance, “If not, I’ll figure something else out.”

“Something… _not_ college related?” Marvin stares at him with unveiled surprise, and Whizzer takes it as being spoken to condescendingly ( something he loathes ).

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, unless you’ve got something lined up, people who don’t go to college typically wind up living with their _parents_ ,” Marvin says pointedly, surprise melting into concern. It was no secret to him that Whizzer wanted anything but spending more time at home than necessary. While it was relatively a well-known fact that Whizzer Brown was queer by their peers, it was kept relatively under wraps the moment Whizzer stepped through the front door of his parent’s house. And Marvin knew it was killing him. No one knew it better than him; he was guarding the same secret.

Whizzer seems to understand the flaw in his lack of planning, and eyes widen in realization. 

“So I...I find a job. I work as full time as I possibly can, work enough to stay at my own place,” he tries, though the note of panic lacing his tone was something fresh to Marvin’s ears and he decidedly doesn’t like it. Whizzer was always so collected ( when they weren’t enjoying a session of bickering ), watching as panic wrenched his pretty face into something foreign to Marvin, it just didn’t sit right. It looked wrong. 

“I’ll find a place. I can’t do another four years of living with them, Marv, I really _can’t_.”

Fingers tangle across the table, unconcerned about who’s around them, and offer a reassuring squeeze.

“You won’t have to. We’ll figure it out. Make a plan, or something.”

Whizzer’s brow creases, eyes fixed on intertwined fingers.

“ _We_?”

“Of course,” Marvin assures, though a small part of his heart tries not to take the doubt personally. 

“You’re gonna be busy, Marvin. This summer, you’re gonna be preparing to move and everything, and then you’ll have, like, zero time during the school year.”

“I’m not gonna make you go through all that on your own, Whiz,” Marvin insists, with as much sincerity as he can muster, “I’m gonna be busy, yeah, but I’m _always_ gonna have time for you.”

“How sappy,” a wry smile tugs gently at Whizzer’s lips, but it’s as warm a gesture or response as Whizzer’s known to give. It’s enough to make Marvin smile himself, anyways.

“You’ve never complained about sappiness before.”

“You’re rarely sappy. _Thankfully_.”

Marvin allows himself to laugh, self deprecating and amused all at once, and Whizzer follows suit. It takes them both a moment to recompose themselves, residual giggles bubbling past lips that valiantly try to maintain previous composure. Once they glance around and sober themselves up by reminding themselves that there were other people in this coffeeshop besides them, Marvin discreetly lips Whizzer’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles-- a rare gesture of genuine affection. All the concerns that had just spilled from Whizzer's lips had been the same words buzzing around his brain and bothering him for weeks. Knowing they shared those worries made him feel less like he was drowning; it made him feel reassured, because if Whizzer was concerned too, it meant they were both looking to ensure it would work out.

“I mean it, though. I’m not just gonna take off and bury myself in work. This wasn’t just some-- _fling_. This means something to me. **_You_** mean something to me. No one else is willing to put up with my shit like you.”

“I was gonna insult you again, but that last part is pretty damn true, so I’ll spare you,” Whizzer teases with a wider grin, “C’mon, my coffee’s gone and you’re not gonna get any more studying done here. Let’s take a walk.”

Marvin finds it difficult to argue when his boyfriend is smiling at him Like That, so textbook is carefully placed in his backpack, and then messenger bag is slung over his shoulder as Whizzer threw his cup out.

On their way out the door, Whizzer nonchalantly shrugs his varsity jacket off and drapes it across Marvin’s shoulders. Marvin’s face goes undeniably red, but he can’t fight a wide ( _horribly_ lovestruck ) grin from pushing at his cheeks, which only encourages the smug smirk on Whizzer’s lips.

Before he leaves for school, Marvin makes sure to give Whizzer his class ring.


	7. High School Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Marvin/Whizzer High School AU. They reunite at Marvin's five-year high school reunion.

No one expected Whizzer Brown to show up to the Five-Year High School Reunion. No one expected to see him after gradation, period. This was mainly due to the fact that before graduation even rolled around, Whizzer Brown dropped off the face of the Earth.

The one person who really hadn’t been counting on Whizzer showing up was Marvin. This was mainly due to the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Whizzer Brown in six years, as well as the fact that Whizzer had graduated a year after him. Not that he had forgotten about his ex-high school sweetheart, because that’d be _very_ difficult to do, but he’d been so preoccupied with making sure he could get the time off to even go to really think about what he should expect from going. He’d already reached out to both Charlotte and Cordelia, who confirmed they would be in attendance. Neither mentioned Whizzer when the subject came up. Marvin heard through them that Trina and Mendel were going as well-- it’d be a blatant lie on his part if he tried to say being the fifth wheel in that group didn’t bother him. Trina and Mendel had tied the knot right after they both graduated college, and Cordelia and Charlotte were waiting until Charlotte finished school to marry ( though the first thing he notices when he sees them is the pair of glittering engagement rings on each of their fingers ).

It _did_ bother him. It bothered him a lot.

But he had his success to drown out his loneliness. His parents had been right: the path they’d structured for him had been a solid one that lead to wealth. An incredible amount of work went into achieving it all, so much time going into studying and creating and presenting and laboring. But luckily an internship Senior Year had turned into a permanent position, and he’d been able to climb quickly through connections and talking his way through the business. Living comfortably was a luxury he’d always planned on but never thought he’d genuinely access this early on.

However, the lack of having someone to share it with had seeped under his skin and chilled him to the bone. It was almost humbling-- _almost_. He wanted a family. A person to share all his wealth with, a child to pass it all on to when he thought it was the right time. Something tightly knit and familiar. Something he could control as easily as he could control all his work. He’d expected to have that, or at least the beginnings of it, by now.

It’s not that he isn’t _proud_ of what he has to flaunt at the reunion, in fact he’ll smugly grin at all the assholes who’d looked down on him in high school when he tells them all he’d done since graduating, but as he walks into the gymnasium, he notices there are so many couples in the large space. And he came alone. Once again, he’s slightly humbled. Because once again, he’s hit with the reality of being alone. There’s no one at his side to show off, the small of his hand on their back as they talk to other couples, only some of which he actually recognizes.

Luckily, Charlotte shows up before Marvin has too much time to lament.

“Marvin? Marvin, _look_ at you! Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

Her boisterous voice puts a grin on his face, spreading wider when he saw Cordelia at her side. He greets them both with a hug, familiarity in it all that puts him at immediate ease. 

“Charlotte! Cordelia! How’ve you been?”

“If you visited more, you’d know,” Cordelia says pointedly, but the smile dancing on her lips betrays any genuine hostility. Marvin visibly cringes anyways, apologetic.

“I know, _I know_. I haven’t had the time. You know I would visit more if I could.”

“At least _he_ calls,” Cordelia murmurs, half to Charlotte, half to anyone but Marvin. Charlotte nudges her before diving into work and school and typical Catching Up After So Long conversation material. He did mean to call them more, he really did. No one else put up with his shit like them. Well, no one else who still spoke to him at all, that was.

About twenty minutes later Trina and Mendel show up, and the Catching Up After So Long conversation circles back around so they can contribute. Small talk had always been something Marvin excelled in but had little patience for. However, a half hour later he’s wishing he was still trapped in small talk, because someone’s strutting through the gymnasium doors that causes him to choke on his drink.

There, in the flesh, was Whizzer Goddamn Brown, looking just as sharp and undeniably handsome as he had six years ago. And he still carries himself with confidence like a goddamn peacock and Marvin wants to simultaneously bury himself ten feet into the ground through wood paneled floors and cry. A vain attempt to regain him composure is made as Charlotte pats his back until choked coughing subsides and Trina stares at him like he has five heads. That is, she stares at him until she looks up and sees what had caused such an abrupt reaction.

“ _Whizzer_! What a surprise!”

Formality laces her tone, but it’s covered with enough delicate lilt to let it go unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t Marvin ( because _he_ was on the receiving end of such formality for a while after their breakup Junior Year ). Charlotte and Cordelia enthusiastically greet him, though Whizzer suffers a good smack in the arm as Cordelia scolds for lack of contact. Marvin stands there, white-knuckled grip on his glass and lips sealed tightly shut as he tries not to stare at the exposed skin of Whizzer’s partially unbuttoned shirt. The man already has a drink in his hand by the time he reaches their small circle, to no one’s surprise. Marvin can only assume Cordelia and Charlotte had extended an invitation to him.

It only takes a couple minutes of somewhat strained small talk amidst air thick with tension that’s caused by years of radio silence to drive Trina and Mendel in the opposite direction. Trina points at an old teacher, and pulls her husband along with her to go catch up. Their hasty retreat only emphasizes the uneasy atmosphere as Marvin and Whizzer finally lock eyes, as though Whizzer is only now realizing he’s there at all.

Familiar eyes rake over him with something he can only assume is both interest and contempt, but Marvin refuses to shift uncomfortably. Standing his ground, he just lifts his chin a bit and supplies a civil smile.

“Whizzer.”

“Marvin.”

Cordelia and Charlotte exchange concerned glances and take small steps back, as though expecting an explosion. Charlotte, though, kept her shoulders set in preparation should she need to step in and mediate.

Standing there, staring at Whizzer, who’s underdressed in a way that is effortlessly classy all the same, in his button up and tight leather jacket, it feels like a decade has passed. Maybe more. Because all he can see, over and over, is himself standing in a room, door muffling the sound of a party downstairs, his class ring being shoved at his chest before he had to watch Whizzer storm off. He’d replayed that moment over and over again for months, years, even. for a long time, he’d denied feeling any guilt or remorse. But eventually he couldn’t help himself from achingly missing Whizzer Brown and his stupid charming smile and his stupid perfect hair and his stupidly charming perfect self in general. But he’s not going to say it to Whizzer’s face now.

“How have you been, _Marv?_ ”

He doesn’t flinch at the nickname. Even though it had only ever sounded right when it came from Whizzer.

“I’ve been good,” he admits, feigning nonchalance as though his heart wasn’t racing, “Got a nice place in the heart of the city, steady job and everything. Working a lot, but that’s nothing new.”

“You always did have your nose buried in one project or essay or whatever,” Whizzer allows with a shrug, and it’s almost enough to loosen Marvin’s stiff shoulders.

“And you? How have you been? I haven’t had the chance to get ahold of you since–”

“Since you broke up with me at a house party because you couldn’t  _‘deal with how cheap and arrogant I was’_. Yeah, I remember. And y’know what? I’ve been _fine_ ,” a note of hysteria pricks at Whizzer’s tone, making it bleed repressed wounded feelings that had aged like fine wine over the ten years they’d been apart, “My dad found out I was a _fag_ , threw my ass out, I had to pass up on college, and figured out how to take care of myself. Started my own photography business. But, _please_ , spare me your pity questions and go back to raving about your life. How’s the _wife?_ ”

Marvin’s face had gone eerily blank, frozen over in rage. But Whizzer doesn’t miss the guilted flinch when slur is dropped. Because Whizzer always notices the little things. He’d always been able to pick up on the most minuscule details when it came to Marvin.

Marvin had tried to call, several times, after that night. But he hadn’t been able to get ahold of Whizzer. Whether that was due to Whizzer ignoring him or Whizzer simply not living at home anymore ( which Marvin does genuinely sympathize with ), he isn’t sure anymore. It had seemed clear to him that what he’d screwed up was something he couldn’t fix. So he’d moved on best he could; only problem was, no one stuck.

Charlotte and Cordelia watch, tension keeping them rooted in place, but neither wants to leave should someone need to get between the two.

“I’m not married.”

It’s all he can manage, voice tight.

“I’m _shocked_. Guess you missed a step in your five-step plan for life, then, huh?”

“Just haven’t met the right person.”

“Were they all too _cheap_ and _arrogant_ for you?”

“Whizzer, I _swear–_ ”

“No, you don’t get to defend yourself for that. I was _prepared_ to try and make it work. I was _prepared_ to somehow work my way into that goddamn plan of yours, because I thought– _maybe–_ you wanted me to. But you gave me a reality check, and if you’re alone because you haven’t been able to find anyone else willing to put up with you and your _fucking_ plans, that’s your own goddamn fault.”

Glass is slammed down on the table and Whizzer’s turning on his heel, face contorted in pure fury, eyes alight with hurt as he storms away in the opposite direction. Marvin drags a hand down his face with a heavy sigh, half of his yearning for a Whizzer who was exactly like the one he’d left behind. The other half of him wants to chase after Whizzer and make his own case.

The other half wins. Charlotte tries to catch his arm as he puts his own drink down and marches after Whizzer, but he’s moving to fast with too much strength to be stopped by a mediating hand. Catching up to Whizzer, halfway across the gymnasium, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around ex’s wrist. The startled look that temporarily replaces the anger distorting Whizzer’s expression is almost satisfying.

“ _Hey–_ I don’t need a guy who peaked in high school lecturing me about how my life is going,” he hisses, and Whizzer yanks his wrist free with a new furious vigor.

“Sorry your high school sweetheart didn’t have the brains to join you at some suffocating ivy league school, Marvin. But I didn’t even get to graduate. I had to drop out entirely so I could work my ass off to keep myself fed.”

“You think _I_ wasn’t working my ass off?”

“Oh my _god_ , you are _literally_ incapable of listening,” frustration peaks, fingers curling in the air, at a loss, “You hear what concerns you, what can inflate or degrade your ego, and that’s it. That’s all. You turned into one of the stiff suits you were so scared of, Marvin. And you know what? I hope you’re happy. I hope it’s working out just fine for you. I hope you walk out there and find some fulfillment in your stale, perfectly scheduled life. And I hope you getting that success means I never have to see your face again.”

Words are leaving Whizzer’s lips at ridiculous speed as arms gesticulate wildly, and Marvin frantically trying to absorb it all. They’re garnering attention, and while that would normally phase him, he’s too busy watching the way Whizzer’s hair flounces and the indistinguishable pain in previously bright eyes. Those eyes used to be so alright with life and passion, but now they just look wild and overwhelmed and tired at once, and for some reason it makes Marvin’s heart ache.

“Well I hope I don’t get it, then.”

Whizzer’s in the process of turning his back to Marvin again, but pauses at the admittance. Slowly, he turns back around.

“ _–What?_ ”

“If having that stale, perfect life means I never get to see your face again, then I don’t want it.”

Whizzer’s brow creases, and he looks like he believes it for a brief moment before it fades away into guarded skepticism and he scoffs.

“Spare me your bullshit, Marvin. You don’t get to throw me out like I’m nothing and then show up five years later and expect me to buy into that.”

“Six.”

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s been six years, not five.”

Whizzer stares at him blankly, torn between raging about the irrelevance of how much time went by and being almost touched that Marvin had actually bothered to keep count. For protection, it’s assumed that Marvin just kept count to be able to make him look dumb all over again. He’d always been good at that, whether he’d been doing it intentionally back then or not.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you threw it all away. We had a good thing going, and you decided in the heat of the moment it wasn’t worth your time anymore.”

“I was drunk. And stressed. And _you_ were dancing with some other guy--”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Whizzer barks, harsh laugh squeezed from his lungs, “It was two seconds, meant literally nothing, and _definitely_ wasn’t solid basis for a break up.”

“I tried calling you,” Marvin reminds with urgency, trying to justify himself; he did try and reach out to repair what had been broken. He’d been met with silence and answering machine recorded responses. If Whizzer had been so prepared to make it work, why wouldn't he pick up the damn phone when he called to work things out?

“I didn’t want to talk to the asshole who called me cheap and arrogant,” Whizzer snaps, arms folding across his chest, “And a few days later, I was kicked out. Had no phone.”

Marvin rubs at the nape of his neck, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t the only one at fault here. He refused to take all the blame; Whizzer had never enjoyed taking blame.

“I never gave you your jacket back.”

Whizzer rolled his eyes, desperately wishing he had a drink in his hand.

“ _Jesus_ , Marvin, I stopped caring about that a month after you dumped me.”

“A _month_?” Recoil rolls through Marvin’s frame, “That’s all it took you to get over it?”

A scoff floats through the air, and Whizzer looks like he’s about to turn away again, but something stops him mid-move. Because it’d be so easy to lie and tell Marvin that it’d taken so little time to get over him. It’d be almost too easy to hurt him like that, deny any lingering feelings for good. But something in Marvin’s expression makes that seem far too cruel. He had a mean streak, sure, but he was never _truly_ cruel. His father had shown him what that turns a person into, and he refused to become that man.

“You told me you _loved_ me, Marvin. You made me believe that. And then you tore me apart in one drunken go. You don’t do that to someone you love. So no, it took me a _little_ longer than a month to get over it.”

The vulnerability in Whizzer’s words strike Marvin to his core, and finally guilt constricts his heart.

“I did mean it. Every time I told you I loved you, I meant it,” he assures with sincerity, “And I promise you it took a _lot_ longer than a month for me to get over it.”

“But you _are_ over it,” it’s phrased as a question, accompanied by a quirk of Whizzer’s eyebrow. Marvin wasn’t planning on that.

“Well, _you_ are, aren’t you?”

Whizzer smirks, though not unkindly. It reminds Marvin of the same smirk tossed unceremoniously his way when he’d gathered up the nerve to walk over to Whizzer’s lunch table and ask him out. Even now, it held up as a warm memory.

“Do you _want_ me to still be hung up over you?” Whizzer asks, moving closer with an almost predatory expression darkening his face, and it’s unclear whether Marvin should feel aroused or slightly intimidated, but he’s currently feeling both.

It’s easy to forget there is a thick crowd of past classmates around them.

“Would it give you pleasure to know I am?”

“Bullshit.”

“I speak the truth.”

Their faces are too close to be engaged in any sort of normal Catching Up After So Long conversation, but both are struggling to maintain poker faces.

“You fucked up that night.”

It’s a challenge, Marvin realizes. Whizzer’s challenging him to own up to his mistake. Rightly so, but Marvin’s not happy about it.

“I did,” he allows, “I fucked up. But _you_ left.”

“I was stuck in this city the whole damn time.”

“You knew where to find me. Didn’t even bother sending a Hanukkah card.”

“That’s not a thing, you asshole,” but Whizzer’s chuckling and his lips are so so close, and Marvin’s heart is beating against his ribcage mercilessly, and he’s still reeling from the fact that Whizzer’s standing there at all.

“Sure it is,” argument is made, trivial and light and enough to make them both momentarily forget their baggage, “Guess you missed the memo.”

Whizzer begins to say something, but Marvin can’t stand the tension anymore. In one reckless move, he’s grabbing Whizzer by the collar and yanking him in for a kiss. It deepens after a moment, Whizzer’s hands moving to his waist and Marvin’s moving to wrap around Whizzer’s neck, and only an exasperated groan from a third party manages to break it apart. Marvin and Whizzer turn to see Cordelia staring at them with weary expression as she shakes her head.

“I can’t _believe_ you two,” she sighs, hint of a smile playing on the edges of her lips, “You’ve been in a room together for like ten minutes after five years apart and you’re already making out.”

“Six years.” Marvin corrects.

“It’s been six years,” Whizzer clarifies simultaneously.

“All the more reason to not understand you two,” Cordelia takes a swig of her drink, but pointedly turns and walks away to give them another moment.

The second she’s out of view, disappearing behind heads of people neither recognized any longer, the pair dissolve into a round of laughter. 

“She’s right,” Whizzer concedes, “This probably would’ve gone down the same way if we’d seen each other a year ago or in five more years.”

Marvin nods, sobering a little, as he readjusts his arms and pulls Whizzer a little closer.

“For the record, I am sorry. For making you feel like shit.”

“An _apology_ ,” Whizzer gasps in mock shock, “From _you?_ Why, this is _unheard_ of! Mark it on your calendars, everybody! This is one for the history books!”

“Shut up,” Marvin intends for it to come out as a convincing hiss at least, but it’s just laughter as he gives Whizzer’s chest a playful shove, ”I’m _serious_.”

“I know. But don’t expect me to be able to just forget all about it just because you said you’re ‘sorry’. You told me you we _meant_ something to you. That _I_ meant something to you. I will not fall for that a second time if it’s just a load of bullshit you’re spewing to clear your conscience.” 

Nodding, Marvin chews on his bottom lip. It was understandable, Whizzer’s wariness. And honestly, he still had pent up animosity and bitterness towards his ex that had been aging like fine wine the last six years. He had to work through that, just like Whizzer had to learn to trust him again. But he wanted this to work. It was sudden, and unexpected, but he’d been longing for something to fill the void Whizzer had left six years ago, and who better to fill that space than the man who’d created it in the first place? He’d lost Whizzer once, he didn’t want to have to do it a second time.

“Do you want this? To try again?”

Whizzer considers it for a moment, genuinely weighing pros and cons. Marvin had always stressed the importance of pros and cons lists. Good to know something rubbed off.

“How about we take it day by day?” Whizzer suggests, something hopeful lighting his eyes up. Unable to help but grin, Marvin nods wholeheartedly.

“That sounds like a good plan. I can work with that.”

“Now you don’t even need to give me my jacket back,” Whizzer jokes, slinging an arm around Marvin’s shoulders as though only a day had passed since high school. A laugh leaves Marvin’s lips, but he’s staring up at Whizzer, questions still buzzing around his head. Because there were six years unaccounted for. He had no idea what Whizzer was doing these days, no clue where he lived or what conditions he was living in. He realizes that while the man at his side is the same one he loved in high school, there was so much he didn’t know.

But there was a time to do Special Catching Up later, for now they were going to make their way back to Charlotte and Cordelia, and Marvin was going to show his now unofficial date off in a way he was never able to when they were actually going steady. Because here, tonight, he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought or whispered behind his back. This wasn’t prom, where they had to put on a charade of heterosexuality for their parents and reputations, whispering to each other on the dance floor in their one chance to dance together. This was them being together, as adults, on the cusp of uncharted territory and Marvin had never been so excited for the uncharted and unplanned.


	8. Do you Understand?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU request -- Marvin's parents find out he's dating a guy instead of a girl.

"Whizzer, I'm telling you, we're gonna get caught."

Warning tone fades into a moan as Whizzer presses a line of fervent kisses up his neck, and he can practically feel the smug smile on the lips against his skin.

It had been a risky move to hang out in Marvin's house to begin with, despite the concrete knowledge that his parents would be at work for several more hours. Whizzer would have plenty of time to slip out of the house before they came home, but that didn't mean Marvin wasn't going to be on edge about it regardless. Paranoia crept under his skin, hot and as prickly as the static caused when you're trying to wake your foot up after it's fallen asleep. Every noise puts him on red alert, afraid his mother or father had decided to come home early. Whizzer seems less concerned. Of course, hanging around Whizzer's house just wasn't an option. That was a solid given, considering Whizzer doesn't even  _speak_  about his house or parents to anyone, Marvin included. All he knew was that the Browns ran a strict, conservative household that Whizzer wanted no part of. That was enough for him to put the rest of the pieces together himself.

Varsity jacket is shed, as is white T-shirt, and Marvin’s temporarily distracted by Whizzer’s ( very nicely toned ) upper half, fingers already working at his own shirt buttons. But before he can stare too long, Whizzer’s reconnecting their lips, and his fingers bat Marvin’s away to efficiently finish unbuttoning the flannel— he laughs into Marvin’s lips at the disgruntled noise made when admiring is cut sort. Of course, a second later they’re too busy fumbling their way to Marvin’s bed for any more complaining to take place. So consumed by Whizzer and nothing but Whizzer (Whizzer's lips on his, the feel of Whizzer's skin under his fingertips, how beautifully disheveled Whizzer looked) Marvin is temporarily distracted and the fear of being discovered was far from his mind.

Because being found out then and there would be  _catastrophic_. His parents had a set plan, they had money set aside, they had hopes riding on him, and they had high expectations. He and Whizzer had managed to get away with prom, acting as Cordelia and Charlotte's dates for pictures and parents before they each swapped to be with their respective significant other for the actual event. And it had been  _ **wonderful**_. As cheesy and enchanting as television made it look; but it wouldn't have been enjoyable at all if Whizzer hadn't been there. He'd probably have been miserable, or more likely, wouldn't have gone at all. But a facade had to be carefully maintained that night. They had to be painfully aware of chaperones and prying eyes and cover themselves, though thankfully the moments together outweighed any forced time apart.

The thought of his parents finding out left Marvin feeling almost as nauseous as when Trina had kissed him for the first time in the beginnings of their short-lived relationship. He didn't want to think about how they'd react, what they'd do, who'd they tell. The thought of bringing any shame to his family and their esteemed reputation wounds him, but having to hide was nearly as damaging. He'd love to proudly walk around with Whizzer in public, hand laced with his boyfriend's even when people he knew were looking. He'd love to introduce Whizzer to his parents instead of sneaking around; he hadn't even had the courage to introduce Whizzer to them as a  _friend_  yet, terrified that they'd figure it out with one quick glance. That all his parents would have to do was stare at him and Whizzer standing side by side and see right through them and their facade of platonic friendship. Or that he'd accidentally let something slip and be forced to watch everything spiral and crumble apart in front of his eyes. It just wasn't worth it, not while he was still living under this roof and being funded by his parents.

But nothing's crumbling at the moment aside from his resolve as Whizzer continues to pepper his skin with kisses, and as though on autopilot, Marvin closes his eyes and preens under the attention, giving Whizzer more room to work. Nothing could distract him better than Whizzer Brown's lips, a fact even he couldn't deny.

But when his eyes flutter open for a moment with the intention of hooking a finger under Whizzer's chin to drag him into a kiss, his attention is drawn to something else. He leans away a bit to get a better look, brows furrowing as a whine is strung out of Whizzer's lips, unhappy to be interrupted.

"Marvin, what are you  _doing?_ "

Marvin stays eerily still, hands on Whizzer's bare chest to hold him at bay. Line of sight doesn't waver, even as Whizzer complains.

"What is  _that?_ "

Along the underside of Whizzer's right arm is a nasty bruise, one Marvin knows he hasn't seen before and definitely wasn't the kind he could've gotten during track practice. Whizzer appears confused for another second before following Marvin's gaze and tensing when he realizes what the subject of concern is.

"It's nothing, Marv," he murmurs with a roll of his eyes before attempting to resume previous activities, but Marvin  _isn't_  allowing distraction. Because the deep discoloration that marred Whizzer's skin clearly wasn't ‘nothing’, and he can feel something cold stirring in the bottom of his gut. So he shifts, to Whizzer's audible chagrin, and reaches out to run his fingers across the bruise gingerly. When it elicits a sharp hiss, they both know this isn't going to be dropped. When it seems Whizzer is going to fruitlessly attempt to give him some bullshit excuse, Marvin flips their positions against the foot of his bed, canceling out their height difference by pinning Whizzer in a sitting position below him. Whizzer, of course, could easily push him aside and put distance between them, but he remains frozen in place, something guarded in his expression that Marvin really didn't like.

"Whizzer," he begins, tone calculated but soft in nature, easing up as he feels the fight in his boyfriend's frame loosen, "I just want to know what happened.  _Please_."

"I told you, it's nothing," Whizzer insists, and with Marvin so close, their chests pressed together and faces only inches together, it's tempting to just try and kiss him to end the ordeal then and there. But part of him reasons that Marvin's a stubborn asshole who won't let up, so Whizzer gives in.

"I got home late the other night, mouthed off a little 'cause I'd had a bit to drink at a party. Guess my dad had  _more_  than a little to drink, though, 'cause  _ **he**_  didn't think it was very funny," he admits with a nonchalant shrug that Marvin knew was forced.

Marvin shifts away, eyes widened in dread. He knew Whizzer had mentioned life at home being less than swell, and had definitely mentioned not being his father's biggest fan, but Marvin hadn't imagined the man could ever lash out at his own son in such a way. His next thought is that if Whizzer's father reacted so violently to a little bit of mouthing off, how would he handle his only son coming out as queer?

" _He_  did that to you?"

Whizzer averts his eyes and looks physically uncomfortable, a completely foreign sight to Marvin. He’d only ever seen Whizzer with head held high, confident and charming— occasionally furious and often smug. But never uneasy, not like this.

"I told you what happened. Can we just drop it? Please?"

“But that’s—“

Marvin doesn’t get to finish because the sound of the front door closing cuts him off. The couple shares mirrored expression of startled fear before scrambling to pull shirts back on and move out of what could have been considered a rather compromising position. A string of curses are uttered under Marvin’s breath as he hastily tries to re-button his shirt as quickly as shaking fingers would allow while Whizzer yanks textbooks out and splays them across the bed as though it would pass for a ‘yeah we were totally studying and definitely not making out’ scene.

“ _You said they weren’t gonna be here for a few more hours—_ “

Whizzer’s hushed hiss is met with an exasperated grimace from his boyfriend, who was red in the face and clearly not up for taking the subsequent blame.

“ _That’s what they told me!_ ”

“Marvin, honey? Are you home?”

Tight, clipped voice of Marvin’s mother rings out through the house, and Marvin glances at Whizzer to ensure they were both prepared for the woman to step into the room should she choose to. Swallowing the lump of hot panic in his throat, Marvin wipes sweaty palms against his jeans and calls back.

“I’m in my room. Studying for Bio,” he lies, as Whizzer quickly flips to a random page in Marvin’s Advanced Biology textbook to help their facade be a little less of a blatant charade. The sound of grocery bags being deposited onto a kitchen counter reaches their waiting ears, followed by the sound of expensive heels clicking down hardwood hall. In a house so big, it shouldn’t feel so suffocatingly small in that moment. Door swings open and Marvin’s mother pokes her head in, expression turning to something of refined surprise when her gaze settles on Whizzer, who was strewn across the bed with his nose in a textbook for a class he definitely wasn’t taking. She wore a clean black pantsuit, dark hair pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head, and grey eyes show no maternal warmth in them; not that Whizzer would be able to spot the difference between the way this woman looked at him and his own mother’s gaze.

“Who’s this?”

Marvin’s heart feels like it’s going to explode right through his ribcage and out of his chest, petrification freezing his tongue over. Luckily, Whizzer doesn’t miss a beat and gets up to extend a hand for the woman to shake, charismatic and likable even under critical gaze of a woman whose son he was secretly dating.

“I’m Whizzer Brown, ma’am. A friend of your son’s,” he introduces himself, and Marvin has to internally applaud the way he didn’t stumble over the term used, because he definitely would’ve, “I was just helping Marvin study for his Bio midterm.”

Watching closely with bated breath as his mother gives Whizzer a skeptical look over before primly shaking the extended hand, Marvin finds his voice again.

“Charlotte was busy studying for her own exam, I didn’t want to impose,” he explains, “Whizzer offered to help, so I figured it would be a good idea if—“

“—If you invited him into our home without permission?”

Stiffening as tone cools, icy glance directed at him, Marvin wants to shrink down to the size of the microorganisms he was supposed to be studying. Whizzer appears to also be at a loss, certain that it wasn’t his place to try and make any further excuses for his presence, and simply tugs his varsity jacket closer to his body.

“Sorry, Mom. Won’t happen again.”

Head is ducked as eyes find his feet, unable to look into his mother’s face; shame prickles at his fingertips and residual shock lingers in his bones. Frankly, he saw little reason for her to be upset, as she’d allowed Trina and Charlotte to come and go as they please, but it was a detail he would overlook for the sake of his own sanity. Because to admit there would be any reason for her to treat Whizzer any differently would be like admitting she sensed something was up. It’d be like admitting she were on his closeted trail, picking up the scent by just scrutinizing the varsity star in her son’s bedroom. Marvin couldn’t take that, couldn’t handle the rising tension thickening the air. So he submits, allowing his mother to take charge of the situation and scold.

“I should hope not. I’m afraid it’s getting late, Mr. Brown, so it’d probably be best that you head home now,” she continues, and Whizzer doesn’t betray himself by nodding in agreement. Marvin yearns to speak out, to argue that they hadn’t gotten  _nearly_  enough work done, because it certainly  **wouldn’t**  be best for Whizzer to return home. Not if the angry bruise hidden by jacket sleeve were any testament to how life was in the Brown household. But he’s been reduced to a helpless child, watching wordlessly as Whizzer flashes a smile and bids them both a good night. As soon as Whizzer’s ducked through his bedroom door, Marvin feels the temperature drop in the room and suddenly it feels a lot more confining and dark. Like he was trapped with only his mother and his shame.

“I don’t want that boy back in this house, do you understand me?”

The injustice of such a decree parts Marvin’s lips, but no words fly past them with indignation or courage like he’d intended. Instead, his brow just furrows as jaw works soundlessly. Taking that as enough of a rebuttal, his mother turns to him sharply, frown prominent on her lips.

“That kind of boy  _isn’t_  the kind you befriend if you want to keep yourself at the top of your class; that kind of boy is a  _distraction_. We can’t afford any distractions now. Not when you’re so close to finishing the year strong.”

Heart howls, urging brain and mouth to cooperate and let all he wants to say leave him in the form of spoken syllables rather than shallow breaths. Sure, Whizzer wasn’t the best influence, and probably  _was_  a bit of a distraction from his studies, but he was the Best Damn Thing to happen to him in years. Whizzer made him laugh, Whizzer helped him relax when he was too tightly wound about schoolwork, Whizzer might drive him up a wall sometimes but Whizzer also kept him sane. And let the record show that in all his time dating Whizzer, Marvin’s grades had not wavered even  _slightly_. He always got his work done and done well. Whizzer hadn’t hindered his education in the slightest— he’d only made going to school every day all the more enjoyable; something to look forward to.

So for his mother to turn around after only having been in the same room as Whizzer for less than five minutes to tell him that Whizzer was no longer welcome under their roof seemed absurd. She didn’t know the first thing about Whizzer, and while he’d certainly made a menagerie of judgements about his peer before getting to know him, this felt different. This felt like his mother had seen something the equivalent of a pest that needed to be disposed of before it could even think of making a space for itself within her home. She didn’t  _want_  to know Whizzer, had no interest in hearing anything Marvin had to say about Whizzer. And at this point in his life, after years of futilely trying to get his mother to listen to his voice when he ever did gather his courage to speak up, he knew better than to try and argue. So a resigned nod is all he can muster, eyes glued to the textbooks spread across his sheets.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

Marvin watches his mother turn on glossy heels before pausing in his doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

“And next time you need a study partner, ask Trina or Cordelia. They’re nice kids, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Watching her retreating figure from where he stands in his room, Marvin wants to laugh at the absurdity of even considering asking Trina to help him with his studies. Cordelia was less of a stretch, but Trina was too much. Their breakup had been as clean as a high school break up could be, and they remained friendly with one another, but that didn’t mean he’d ask her to go out of her way to help him study. His mother had always adored Trina. Thought the world of her, and had been thoroughly disappointed to hear he’d broken up with her. How would she react now should he tell her she’d just kicked his boyfriend out of their house?

Whizzer Brown does not return to that household for seven years.

———

Seven years pass, and Marvin’s parents are still entirely unaware of their son’s sexuality.

As though a given, that means he’s been pestered about finding a decent woman to settle down with. Not to mention the pressure to start a family with said decent woman, and while Marvin’s always entertained the idea of a family ( it had often come in the form of a  **traditional**  family; a husband, wife, and child all posed perfectly for a portrait ), the more the topic is brought up during his visits and family events the more it sounds unappealing. He’d love to have a child, a son to pass all he has and all he’s learned down to someday. But continuing this charade and marrying a woman just isn’t feasible any longer— not since reuniting with Whizzer after their ( far too long ) separation after high school. Because he realizes he couldn’t possibly force himself into a loveless marriage for the rest of his days when there was someone he genuinely loved already out there. Someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, even if it had to be unconventional and a break in tradition. Tradition was overrated anyways.

So the time comes to break this news to his parents.

Maybe it’s just that he’s spent so long away from the house or he’s just learned to think for himself and control his own life, but Marvin dreads stepping foot in his childhood home again. The thought of passing through the front door into a house too big for its minimalistic decor ( which caused it to lack any homeliness or warmth all on its own ) causes his stomach to knot with nerves. Because he  _knows_  whats waiting for him once he steps inside: two people who are prepared to try and continue molding him into the man they expect him to be, a man he isn’t and will never be. He’d spent the majority of his life trying to please, to obey, and to do everything just the way they wanted him to. By now, Marvin had decided he doesn’t owe these people any more mindless obedience.

Whizzer’s fingers thread through his own, giving joined hands a reassuring squeeze. It was exactly what Marvin needed as he stood in front of a door he used to push open unceremoniously every day for more years than he could count of his fingers. This was it, this was him putting the nail in the coffin— the coffin containing his parents’ dreams of their Perfect, Can-Do-No-Wrong, Heterosexual Son. Because he was an adult now, who could make his own decisions, and could love who he wanted to without shame or fear. He chose to love Whizzer Brown, High School Sweetheart and a man with a stupidly charming smile on his lips at all times.

“Doorbell’s ready whenever you are,” Whizzer murmurs, dark eyes flickering from said doorbell to his partner, who was currently coiled tight with repressed fear. Lips hover close enough to exposed skin to make Marvin shiver as hot breath crawled along his neck.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Then we drove all the way out here for nothing,” elicits an eye roll, and Marvin turns to give Whizzer a stern look that isn’t all that convincing A Look, “I know this isn’t easy, I  _do_. But you’ve gotta do it like ripping a band-aid off. Quick, and hopefully as painless as possible.”

There isn’t a moment where Marvin doubts that Whizzer knows how he feels in this moment. But he also knows that their situations were vastly different— Whizzer had never had a stable relationship with either parents, so when he’d come out to his father in a heated argument and had subsequently been struck across the face and thrown out of his own home, Marvin had been horrified but not thoroughly shocked. Marvin had always had a stable relationship with his parents, a steady balance of take and give. They set their expectations, he met them and occasionally exceeded them. They supported him through school and while he found his footing in the business. Chances were, they weren’t going to take this news well. And Marvin had never disappointed them before; this would be a new experience for everyone.

Lifting a hand to gently run his finger across the thin scar along Whizzer’s cheekbone ( a small remainder of the blow that had sent the man stumbling backwards out of his own home for the last time ), Marvin tries to both express his gratitude for his partner’s presence as well as express the building anticipation ready to tear his chest apart. One thing was certain, no matter how the couple behind this door reacted to his news, he had lost Whizzer Brown once and wasn’t about to give what they had up a second time. Finances no longer were a vital concern, he didn’t need his parents’ support any longer, though any support from them had always been appreciated. Realistically, he’d waited long enough— he owed them nothing, very little could be stripped from him now.

“They’re gonna have  _heart attacks_ ,” he admits with a wry chuckle.

“Wish I had thought of bringing a camera along,” Whizzer muses, teasing smile on his lips as Marvin nudges him in the ribs, “Hey, they were the ones who asked you to bring your current significant other to dinner. They  _literally_  asked for this.”

“I think they had something a little  **different**  in mind.”

“Something  _female_ , maybe?”

“Well, definitely not the varsity jock my mom kicked out seven years ago,” Marvin shrugs, though a smile has worked its way back onto his face, unable to disguise the fondness in his gaze as annoyance.

Whizzer shifts closer, faces only inches away from one another, and Marvin feels his heart skip for an entirely different reason.

“We could’ve have  _such_  a good time if she hadn’t gotten home early,” he sighs, but Marvin’s brow furrows, remembering it differently.

“There was no way anything was gonna happen that night after we got to the subject of  _ **your**_  parents, Whiz.”

Pretty face crinkles with distaste, as though the memory put a sour taste in his mouth by just recalling it vaguely. Taking his words back wasn’t on Marvin’s mind, though. They’d never actually finished that conversation; the bruise had healed and he’d found several more over time until he’d graduated and left for college ( and broken up with his varsity boyfriend ). Now, however, wasn’t the time to have that kind of conversation. Now was the time to ring the waiting doorbell.

“Yeah, well we don’t have to worry about  _them_  anymore. We’ve just gotta focus on making sure  _yours_  don’t flip shit,” Whizzer replies, straightening so their faces are no longer close together, eyes trained on the door. Marvin doesn’t regret his words, but he regrets bringing the subject up at such a poor time. So he just nods and presses chaste kiss to Whizzer’s cheek and rings the doorbell, holding his breath involuntarily.

As the door opens with a click, Whizzer’s hand finds his again, and Marvin is unbelievably grateful— the feel of Whizzer’s hand in his is grounding, keeps him from losing his head to nerves.

Marvin’s mother stands in the doorway, and the look on her face is what deja vu would appear like if it were a human expression.

“Who is  _this?_ ”

Tone is clipped, eyes fixated on Whizzer, and this time Marvin doesn’t flounder. Instead, he offers a tight smile and gives Whizzer’s hand a squeeze.

“This, Mom, is Whizzer Brown. You met him a while back, remember?”

The way guarded eyes darken lets him know she remembers exactly what he’s talking about. Hand on the door tightens its grip, bony fingers whitening under pressure. Whizzer smiles, and it’s perfectly polite and shit-eating all at the same time and it’s almost enough to put Marvin at amused ease.  _Almost_. Hand is extended for Marvin’s mother to shake, but this time the gesture is not reciprocated, just stared at.

“What is he doing here?”

“You invited him.”

Whizzer retracts his hand, understanding that it wasn’t going to be politely shaken as it had the first time he’d met this woman. He hadn’t expected it to be, but this ordeal wasn’t about him tonight. His presence was there for reassurance and comfort should Marvin need it in the face of what was almost definitely going to be rampantly homophobic behavior and words.

It is important to note that Marvin has never seen his mother loose her head over anything. She’s raised her voice at him and others before, but he has never been the subject of her fury or harsh words. There had been no reason for that when he obeyed her every whim and carried out the life she’d dictated. His father was more of a mellow fellow, only getting riled up over a game of football from his spot on the sofa in front of the TV screen. The older he got, the more time he spent in his room and away from them both, buried in books and schoolwork, and eventually he spent more time out of the house entirely, to enjoy himself with Whizzer and his friends. He remembers those days fondly, the days spent walking around the city arm and arm with Whizzer, getting ice cream with Charlotte while they complain about the mistake their Calculus teacher made this week. Being away from scrutinizing gaze and isolating walls of home had helped him more than he could express, and he owed much of that to Whizzer’s relentless nagging.

So to see something spark in his mother’s eyes was enough to shake him to his core, something forcing her posture to stiffen and suddenly she resembles more of a snake than anything, narrowed eyes and tight lips unflinching as she processes. Marvin got his need for order and preparation from her; it had been stressed since birth. There had been no way for her to prepare for  _this_. Chances were she’d been expecting a pretty young woman, probably someone almost identical to Trina, and had prepared a nice meal that would be done in roughly ten minutes, and had even gotten his father to wash up and dress nicely for the dinner. They’d have sat around the living room and made small talk while she got a feel for what his girlfriend was like and how respectable she was. If she passed all subtle tests, she’d be welcomed as part of the family, and they’d sit through a pleasant dinner in the dining room before fine wine was broken out to round the night off. His mother was a predictable woman, but that was only because of the way she strategized off what she knew. But now she was in uncharted territory, and Marvin can see just how unhinged it made her.

Hand rakes through greying hair, as her wild gaze turns to her son, relieving Whizzer for a moment.

“I’m not amused, Marvin. I extended the invitation to—“

“To my  _significant other_ ,” Marvin finishes, as close to interrupting his mother as he’s ever come. Whizzer would be lying if he claimed to be unimpressed. Marvin feels one syllable away from being sick.

The four words sink into his mother’s understanding slowly, and her hand leaves the door, fingers trembling as they cover her mouth. Shame bubbles up and batters Marvin’s heart, but he steels himself. There was nothing shameful about who he loved; Whizzer had taught him that. He should not feel ashamed for this, and he should not feel guilty for how his mother reacts. He was his own person; he was still her son, but he was independent and while maintaining a connection with his parents would be preferable, it wasn’t something he found to be necessary. If something like this was enough for them to no longer want him, then he really was just a puppet to them, a piece in a game of family status and success. It would not be a devastating loss.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers, looking between them with acute horror.

“ _I’m_  the significant other,” Whizzer pipes up before Marvin has a chance to cordially answer, and the shellshocked woman turns to him, aghast, “Therefore, I’m the person you invited to dinner. Nice to meet you again.”

Well, that was certainly a way to clarify the confusion.

Shaky hand is brought down to splay across her chest, palm over racing heart. She shakes her head, denial creeping into the frantic movement and Marvin’s heart plummets.

“ _No_. No, this is  _too much_ , Marvin,” she snaps, and while Marvin flinches slightly, Whizzer only tenses defensively, “If you had enough of our nagging about a wife, you could have  _told_  us! You didn’t have to go above and beyond to prove a point. You don’t have to play any games and rebel as though you’re still a teenager.”

“That’s  _not_  what this is,” Marvin argues, though there’s more a desperation for her to understand than anger in his tone, “I never  _wanted_  a wife. I never  _wanted_  a girlfriend. This isn’t just some statement to get you off my back, this is just  _ **me**_.”

“This isn’t funny, Marvin,” voice goes up an octave, shrill. Footsteps sound from deeper within the house, and as predicted, Marvin’s father is dressed nicely for once in a blue moon. He wears confusion blearily on stout face, brought to the door by the dispute mounting at his welcome mat.

“Lila, what’s going on? I thought we were having dinner with—“

Deep voice draws to a pause as he finds his son and another man standing in front of him and his brow furrows.

“Who is this?”

“Marvin’s  _‘Significant Other’_ ,” Marvin’s mother answered before either Marvin or Whizzer could respond. Whizzer was quick to extend a hand to Marvin’s father, offering a polite smile in hopes the older man would have more composure than his wife.

“Whizzer Brown. Nice to meet you, si—“

“My son’s  **not**  gay.”

Whizzer blinks, hand once again retracts, but it’s one of the few times Marvin has ever seen Whizzer look unnerved.

“And you know this  _how_?”

“ _Whizzer_. Dad, I—“

“I will not have you acting out in such a way,” Marvin’s mother looks relieved, as though this word was final, “Tell this man to leave, and I never want to hear of this again.”

Marvin stares at his parents for a long moment, as they stare back expectantly, waiting for their son to follow their orders as he’d done forever until this point. He’d never once stepped out of line, never spoken back, never lied, and never disobeyed them before. Before  **now** , that is.

“ _No_.”

Even Whizzer looks surprised, as all three widen their eyes and expectance morphs into shock.

“You invited us  _both_  for dinner. Either we call the dinner off or you let us inside and we discuss this like adults. Because I love Whizzer, I have since  _high school_ , and I’m not going to make him leave just because  _you’re_  having a difficult time accepting this.”

It’s Whizzer’s turn to applaud internally.

Unfortunately, his parents don’t appear as impressed. His father is red in the face, and his mother’s bottom lip trembles, but whether it’s caused by anguish or fury is to be determined.

“ _High school?_ ” His mother’s voice is barely audible, dread filling her frame, and it’s the first time Marvin’s her hold herself without rigidity and confidence.

“High school. Beginning of Senior year. Made Senior Prom a lot more fun then Junior Prom.”

“You didn’t go with  _him_ , you went with—“

“Charlotte. Who is also  _very_  gay and  _very_  engaged to Cordelia. ‘Delia went with Whizzer to prom. We thought ahead,” Marvin responds cooly, and with an edge he hopes gives him the upper hand if their preparation for Prom hadn’t already done so.

“Oh,  _Marvin_ ,” the whisper leaves his mother’s lips as though it were a grievance, a sound of mourning.

Whizzer gives still intertwined fingers another reassuring squeeze.

“C’mon, let’s go get dinner somewhere else, Marv,” he murmurs, afraid this could escalate to what he’d had to deal with now that Marvin’s father was involved. Marvin shakes his head.

“We were invited to dinner. I want to know if that invitation still stands before we make other plans,” he says, gaze unwavering from where it bores into his mother.

His father’s arm wraps around his mother’s shoulders and pulls her close, and it’s the closest thing to an gesture of intimacy he’s witnessed between his parents. They’d never kissed in front of him, never held hands, never were big on romantic surprises or behavior, they only spent time together when out in public and had to stand together or sit together. It’s almost uncomfortable for him to see now; the most uncomfortable part was that it didn’t look  _forced_.

“I don’t want that man in this house, and I don’t want to see you come to this door so long as you are with him, do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Marvin replies, steadfast and confident where his mother’s voice had trembled, “Whizzer, let’s go. I’ve been meaning to try that new Italian place, anyways. It’s closer to here than it is home.”

Whizzer smiles, and gives the couple still standing in the doorway a snide sneer as he wraps an arm around Marvin’s waist and begins to guide him away. He can hear Marvin’s father whisper comforting words to his wife, assuring her that this would pass.

“Sounds good to me. I’ve heard they’ve got some  _damn_  good wine.”

And they get drunk on that damn good wine as Marvin unloads years of repressed qualms and grievances about his parents to Whizzer, who as per usual is the best listener Marvin knows. He nods along, eyes never straying, and adding bits of reassurance and reaction when he found the opportunity to do so. They sit in that little Italian restaurant until their server informs them that the place is closing for the night. By that point, they’ve both done their fair share of drinking and talking and laughing and handholding to make everything that came before that moment of the day feel irrelevant, even if only for now.


	9. And The Letters Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: For the ao3 stories After coming out to his parents, they keep sending Marvin information about how to 'turn straight' or places like that (which btw are bleeping awful) and he panics and fully realizes his parents won't ever accept him again.

Sifting through the mail that was delivered to their apartment door had become Whizzer’s job. Partially because he was home most of the time when it arrived, but also because Marvin couldn’t stomach it anymore. Whizzer had moved in months before their attempt to have dinner with his parents together, and everything had been fine before then. Marvin would come home, check the mail, then allow it to be forgotten about until the next day. There was never anything exciting or eye-catching in the array of envelopes before, so the first time something from his parents arrives since that evening, his heart lurches.

 

Part of him had _hoped_ , hoped that it was some form of apology, an invitation to dinner that explicitly asked for Whizzer to accompany him. Something that assured him that they loved him, that they were willing to work through this. But when he opened the envelope and saw a brochure for a place they described as an institution that could ‘help him’ with his ‘problem’, he tosses it with frustrated vigor and pours himself a drink. They wrote letters to accompany each brochure or information packet they sent his way, recommended specialists, and always made sure to remind him that this would pass, that he just had to work through this phase. While their words were calculatingly caring, they held no warmth when he read them. After getting about five of these items, each only days apart from the last, Marvin decides he can’t handle it anymore and the duty of checking the mail is passed off to Whizzer. Whizzer takes it without complaint, having despised watching Marvin have to pluck select envelopes from the mix and toss them once he’d read through it.

 

“Y’know, you don’t have to read everything they send you,” Whizzer reminds him one day after a brochure has already been shoved into the trash, “You don’t have to do that to yourself.”

 

Marvin shrugs, the only sign of any hurt shining in his eyes. No one else would have picked up on it, but Whizzer’s ability to read Marvin had always been finely tuned, so of course he noticed. For once, Marvin doesn’t particularly mind; it saved him from verbalizing anything he didn’t want to.

 

“Part of me keeps hoping they’ll stop and just send some sort of apology. Or something to substitute as an apology, since they’ve never been _good_ at issuing those,” he explains with a shrug, and Whizzer just nods in empathetic understanding.

 

So Whizzer sorts through the mail and disposes of anything that needed disposing of before Marvin came home from work. And it works for a while, keeps Marvin blissfully unaware and Whizzer had a little bit of control over the situation. But when things for Whizzer also begin to show up in their mail, it unnerves him. They start sending two of each brochure or packet, start hurling insults and accusations in Whizzer’s direction, and it all winds up in the trash, torn into little pieces more often than not. Because he didn’t need that, neither of them needed any of this. They were fine, they were _happy—_ for the first time since senior year they were indisputably happy together. Neither was willing to let this come between them now.

 

But one day Whizzer has a late night at the studio, and the mail is left untouched and unsorted in their mailbox when Marvin gets home. Without thinking, as it had been a while since he’d had to deal with going through anything himself, he scoops the small stack up and begins to go through it.

 

“Oh, _no— no, no, no._ ”

 

And there’s his parent’s neat cursive, but it’s not his name on the envelope. His heart stills, filling with dread as his fingers run across the indented paper where Whizzer’s name is scrawled. Because right below the small envelope is a pair of brochures, one in his name and the other in Whizzer’s. That wasn’t right, there wasn’t supposed to be anything being forced upon _Whizzer_. But as much as he wanted to open the envelope, he had to stop himself, remind himself that he couldn’t open something that didn’t have his name on it. So he tosses the brochures and leaves the letter from his parents unopened and on the kitchen counter. Silently, he prays this is the first thing they’ve sent. _Don't let there be more,_ he internally plead, _please don't let there be more that Whizzer has already read._ If there was an issue, let it remain between him and his parents. Whizzer doesn't need to be involved or subjected to all this crap.

 

Because the first time a brochure popped up in the mail Marvin had given it a thorough look over. He read it all, did his research, in hopes that he'll be able to understand. Understand what his parents want of him, to see if by some slim chance he could pull together a compromise that didn't compromise who he was or what he had with Whizzer. He refused to give that up again. But every time he thinks about the program advertised to him through his parents, he feels nauseous. Utterly sick to his stomach. Because research led him to first hand accounts, led him to stories of people who'd lived through the program, and it'd put them through hell. Damage was done, and after skimming through account after account he has to shut his laptop and walk away, feeling sick.

 

He doesn't want to put Whizzer through the same nausea. This was between him and his parents.

 

So when Whizzer comes home, waltzing through the front door from a long day of work and tireless hours spent posing families for brain numbing portraits, Marvin hesitates to even bring it up. But then Whizzer gives him a brilliant smile and Marvin knows he can't keep this from him; if he already knows then all the more reason to talk about it. Having Whizzer internalize for his sake wasn't going to help either of them. Marvin wraps his arms around Whizzer's neck as Whizzer's automatically find his hips and dips his head so their lips could meet.

 

"Good day at work?" He hums against familiar lips and Whizzer shrugs his shoulders a bit.

 

"As good as five portrait sessions in a day can get," he allows, "How was work for you?"

 

"Work was fine," Marvin replies but instead of mentioning any details about him fine day at work, he cuts the small talk and dives right into a new topic, "Something else was bothersome though."

 

Whizzer lifts an eyebrow, prepared to have to defend himself for whatever it was his partner said next-- he'd barely been around today, what could he have possibly bothered Marvin with?

 

"Oh?" He chirps, "And what was that?"

 

"The mail," Marvin explains, and he can see in the way Whizzer's brow creases and eyes momentarily flicker to the pile of envelopes on the counter that he knows what's coming, "Got something from my parents again."

 

" _Again?_ Jesus, it's been over two months, you'd think they would've run out of things to send by now," Whizzer sighs, eyes betraying nothing if he had received anything himself. So Marvin presses.

 

"Guess they're really invested now," he muses, a sour taste on his tongue, "Do you think they'll stop soon?"

 

"I was hoping they'd stop after the first one," Whizzer admits, "So I really don't know. You'd think they would've gotten the message by now that it's not really a _choice_ thing, and yet--"

 

He moved away to stroll into the kitchen, and Marvin had this pattern so memorized that he didn't have to guess what his partner was doing. It had become routine, when they both get home Whizzer makes them drinks to help them both unwind. But now it felt more like a distraction, a way to avert the topic, rather than routine. Marvin feels sick all over again.

 

"They sent _you_ something," he announces, gesturing to the mail pile with chagrin, "A couple things, actually."

 

Whizzer plucks two glasses from the cabinet with ease and sets them down gently without a sign of hindrance, entirely undeterred.

 

"Wouldn't be the first time," he states as casually as though he were merely speaking about the weather. As he pours them both drinks, Marvin moves closer and tries to ignore the way his heart constricts.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Whizzer finally looks up, sliding one of the filled glasses across the counter to Marvin's hands, continuing to feign nonchalance as he gives up the truth. Marvin's voice had been soft, not demanding or confrontational as had been expected, which encouraged more honesty rather than defense.

 

"They started sending me stuff after a few weeks," he explains after taking a swig of alcohol from his glass, "Blamed me for 'turning you gay' and everything. Urged me to leave and get help and all that bullshit."

 

"They _what?_ "

 

"Oh, don't look shocked," Whizzer dismissed, trying to prove the harassment meant nothing and was no match for thickened skin, "At least we're handling it now, and not at teenagers. Now **_that_** would've been messy."

 

Marvin has to admit that's true: he would have had much more grief and chaos in his life if they had come out to their parents while in school. They had been too young, wouldn't have handled a reaction like this well, and had still been too dependent on the adults in their life to have coped well with this kind of backlash. Whizzer had dealt with it on his own, but by then he'd managed to tread water long enough that he found ways of staying afloat more securely before the ocean of abandonment swallowed him while. Marvin doesn't want to think of how much time they would have lost together if his parents had found out back then. Because they would have forced them apart, probably would have used their authority over him to send him to one of the conversion institutes they keep advertising to him. They would have ensured he never saw Whizzer Brown again. Now he and Whizzer had both matured, both made it clear that despite their time apart and differences they wanted this to work, they wanted an adult relationship. That just happened to come with parents that couldn't cope.

 

"Fair point, that would have been a goddamn shitshow. But that doesn't justify them sending anything to you."

 

Marvin's gaze is steeled, set on Whizzer who swishes the contents of his glass around with a relaxed twirl of his wrist.

 

"Marv, I don't _care_. I see their names, I toss whatever they sent out. I'm old enough to handle some strongly worded letters," he defends, and Marvin shakes his head, at a loss.

 

"I don't know what it'll take to get them to stop," he admits, feeling his heart get caught in his throat, "I don't know _if_ they'll stop. They're stubborn people, Whizzer, once they have their minds set on something it doesn't change. They won't change."

 

"So _that's_ where your stubbornness comes from," Whizzer hums into the rim of his glass, "Good to know."

 

"I'm serious. They won't let up until--"

 

"Until _what?_ " Whizzer sets his drink down sharply, any prior snark wiped clean away by seriousness, "Until you give in? Until you obey their every word, just like you used to? Until you go groveling for their forgiveness?"

 

" _I don't know!_ "

 

Admittance rings in the air, held there by deafening silence as the two men stare at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen counter. Marvin can't remember the last time he ever admitted to not knowing something, Whizzer can't recall ever hearing Marvin admit to not knowing something either. Marvin had **_always_** had an answer, always had a witty retort or barrage of facts or solution. It had earned him the exceptional grades that had carried him through school all his life.

 

"I _don't know,_ " he repeats helplessly, and watches as Whizzer's frame loosens and features soften with concern, "I don't know what to do, or how to give them what they want without losing **_you_**. But I can't just say _'screw them'_ and leave them behind entirely, Whizzer, I just can't. I'm not _like_ you, I was happy growing up in that house with those people. I did everything in my power to repay them for what they did for me, for making me successful and providing for me. I have never disappointed those people in my life, and now they won't even return my calls. What if they never speak to me again? What if there isn't anything I can do to _fix_ this?"

 

Voice has risen into something just short of hysteria, hands waving frantically as he speaks, and he sounds as broken as he feels. Shoulders tremble even as Whizzer makes his way around the corner to envelope Marvin into an embrace that was easy to melt into. Marvin wraps his arms around Whizzer's abdomen and clings, trying to steady his breathing. Composure was _important_ , he could hear his mother's nagging from here, always maintain composure.

 

"It's their loss," Whizzer murmurs into his hair, and Marvin's eyebrows knit together in confusion but he doesn't shift from his place to look at his partner.

 

"What?"

 

"If they can't see past something like this, it's their loss. They've got an amazing son, and they're overlooking that because he's not into girls. Guess you didn't get your **smarts** from them," Whizzer clarifies and Marvin remains silent for a moment, though panic still remains lumped in his throat. He's always had a difficult time letting go of things. In the aftermath of his break up with Trina, he'd had trouble adjusting, coming to terms with her being available to others. He'd wanted things to be as they were, he wanted her to remain as close as she had been, just without the expectations of affection or intimacy. When it became clear that Trina had other plans, Marvin hadn't taken it well and it took several talks with Charlotte to ease the jealousy and frustration he felt. It was a good thing Charlotte was an exceptional listener; maybe she should've become a therapist instead of a medical doctor. She could've kept Mendel company.

 

If it took him months to come to terms with Trina not allowing things to go on as they had been despite the separation, how was he supposed to just cope with his own parents wanting nothing to do with him?

 

"I don't want to lose them," Marvin whispers, voice still muffled by Whizzer's shirt. Whizzer plants a kiss to the top of his head and hums to acknowledge what's been said. He's never been the one with all the answers, just the one to pretend like he did by offering wit and snark instead of advice or comfort. It was failing him now.

 

"Hey, at least they care enough to try and 'cure' you," Whizzer mutters, bitterness evident in his voice. Marvin can't tell if it's due to memories Whizzer claimed didn't bother him anymore, due to his parents and their nasty letters, or both. Either way, he frowns and finally pulls his head up to look at his partner.

 

"It's the same as losing them," he argues halfheartedly, "because now I've seen them for who they are, and I just want to go back to when I couldn't see all their flaws and intolerance. _Those_ were my parents, not whoever lives at that address now."

 

"They're the same people. It just takes some children longer to realize that."

 

"So what do I do? Just _ignore_ it? Confront them?"

 

Whizzer gives an exasperated laugh, arms rising and falling in a full body shrug.

 

"I've got _no clue_ , Marvin! I wouldn't **_confront_** them-- nothing good would come out of that. They'd probably sick that mutt of theirs on you if you showed up to demand an explanation."

 

"You never did like that dog."

 

"He didn't like me either, so it's fine," Whizzer continues, "But I'm serious, Marvin. Confrontation could only end badly."

 

"See, this is why I’m asking **_you_**. You're the only person I know who knows how to handle this. Charlotte and Delia never dealt with this. Charlotte's parents were indifferent like they are about everything, and Delia hasn't spoken to hers in years, so they still don't know. But _you've_ gone through this."

 

Whizzer's expression darkens and he busies himself with moving back to the counter to pour himself more to drink. Marvin isn't sure what line he's crossed, what boundary has been overstepped, but he's certain it's happened.

 

"You shouldn't be following my example. Unless you want what happened to me to be some sort of fucking cautionary tale, which in _that_ case I'm insulted," Whizzer growls, voice rough in a way Marvin hasn’t heard in a long time and it twists his gut, “Because it sounds like you want something _very_ different than I did."

 

"I didn't mean to insult."

 

"I never said you did."

 

Marvin draws in a deep breath to steady himself, struggling to find words that would appease. Harsh words had cost him dearly in the past, he had to keep himself in check now.

 

"I don't want this to be the last I get with my parents. I don't want to lose them for good."

 

It's spoken with sincerity, enough to bring the glass away from Whizzer's lips, but the hard edge disrupting chiseled features remained.

 

"I get it. You want to fix this. We can go around this point in circles forever if you're so inclined, but I'm getting tired of it. I'd like nothing more than for you to repair your relationship with your parents, but they have made it _explicitly_ clear they want nothing to do with **_us_**. As long as me, or any other man is involved, they're going to keep trying to _fix_ you."

 

“I’m not looking to talk in circles, I’m looking for a resolution,” Marvin replies, growing frustrated.

 

“Then go ahead, try to talk to them!” Whizzer waves a hand as though shooing Marvin in the direction of home, “Talk some sense into them, confront them, plead for forgiveness, that’s all you. You could just ignore them. Focus on what’s _actually_ important.”

 

“Family is _important_ ,” Marvin raises his voice, impassioned. Whizzer stares at him with guarded apprehension, fingers tightening around the glass in his hand.

 

“Family means _nothing_ when it’s decided that you’re unlovable for who you love.”

 

It strikes a nerve.

 

For one blazing moment, Marvin’s _furious_ , eyes sparking with rage as fists clench at his sides. But it’s gone before he has the chance to yell or break something or try any low blows. Instead, he ends up breaking down, struggling to breathe. Because suddenly everything is crashing down on him, carefully structured life falling to pieces before him, set path evaporating. It’s always been there, guiding him to success after success, unfaltering. He’d grown up with everything dictated for him; he was going to excel in school, he was going to go to a prestigious college, he was going to have a successful career, he was going to have a wife and children and lead the life that had become the image of the American Dream. Whizzer Brown had thrown a wrench into that last part the moment he’d strut into gym class in tight white shorts, investing Marvin in gym class like never before. He’d thrown him temporarily off path, but it had seemed like all could continue as planned during high school, like he’d be able to have his cake and eat it too. But then Whizzer was out of the picture as suddenly as he’d been introduced to it, and all Marvin had was the plan. It’d been lonely, but kept him busy. It kept him focused, trained to follow through and see it all to the end, despite the dull ache in his heart whenever he saw couple pass him by on campus. He’d gotten so far on his own, with his parent’s consistent support, assuring him that he was making them _proud_ , stressing the importance that he excel. But then Whizzer Brown made his reprise, and everything finally felt **_right_**. Like all the planning and stressing and years alone were suddenly worth it. But it hadn’t been part of the plan.

 

His parents hadn’t _planned_ for Whizzer Brown. They hadn’t _planned_ for the wife and children part of the picture they’d intended for their son to be so jarringly interrupted. They couldn’t cope. That picture was disintegrating, it had burned before their very eyes when Whizzer’s hand slipped into their son’s on their very own doorstep. And if it wasn’t part of their plan, they wanted nothing to do with it. This harassment, the letters, the brochures, the packets, it was all a desperate attempt to get their plan back on track. It was them trying to spare themselves embarrassment. They loved the idea of the perfect son, not the son they had.

 

Marvin had never been without a plan before. He’d never not had his parents to dictate his every move before. It was liberating and horrifying at the same time.

 

Hands grip marble counter as ragged breaths heave his chest, and any rigidity Whizzer had coiled tightly in his body releases and allows him to go to Marvin’s side, hand tentatively placed on partner’s back, rubbing soothing circles into it.

 

“ _Hey—_ hey,” a voice that sounds like home soothes, anchors him to sanity before it slips away from him to succumb to blinding panic, “You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

“What do I _do?_ ”

 

Rasped question causes Whizzer to pause, once again being looked to for a solution.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Marvin picks his head up to stare, incredulous.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You don’t have to do _anything_ , Marvin. You tried to do thing cordially, that’s enough. You can’t control what they do or feel, just like they can’t control what _you_ do or how you feel. If they come around, they’ll come around. But it’ll be at their own pace. For right now, we have this under control. Don’t look at me like that, we _do_. You still have your job, you have a home, you have financial stability. Your parents can’t take that away from you, it’s the result of your hard work.”

 

Marvin mulls over this for a long moment, silence falling between them as Whizzer’s hand still on his back, as though he were afraid that should he remove it Marvin would fall apart. Grateful for it, Marvin doesn’t shrug away in fear it’d push Whizzer past an invisible line. He’s lost his parents, he can’t lose Whizzer too.

 

“I did try,” he allows quietly, “I _did_. And I built a life for myself. I don’t need a plan anymore; I’m not a child anymore.”

 

Whizzer nods, watching him warily.

 

“I have a life. I have _you_. I’m not walking away from that just because my parents threw a fit,” voice gains steadiness, confidence rising to where it was.

 

“I sure as hell hope you wouldn’t,” Whizzer replies, relieved to see Marvin return to the man he could recognize again. It makes Marvin smile, and that’s confirmation enough for him to know they’d be just fine.

 

“What will _you_ do?”

 

Marvin’s question throws Whizzer off, catching him by surprise. This wasn’t his internal conflict they were dealing with, this wasn’t _his_ parents sending them things. Sure, the things he’d read when the first letter arrived had unnerved him to an extent, but it had been nearly cathartic to tear the rest to pieces each time they wound up in his hands. There's too much he still hasn't told Marvin about his parents, so much he swept under a rug and would continue to pretend didn't exist. If he received any sort of contact from either of his own parents he'd be so stricken with shock he'd stop breathing altogether. The thought that he was in any way harming Marvin, corrupting his future, was stuck to the back of his thoughts like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. It could be true— he’d never considered it before, being something that acts as a roadblock for Marvin’s success. He’d always just considered himself _part_ of the success.

 

“Keep ripping what they send to shreds,” he settles upon, burying any thoughts stirred by those damned letters. Marvin doesn’t appear convinced, but finally released his vice grip on the counter to straighten himself, Whizzer’s hand falling to his side.

 

“ _Whizzer._ ”

 

“Marvin, this was between you and your parents. I was bound to get caught in the crossfire. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t be here right now,” he tries feigning nonchalance, hands lifting to cradle Marvin’s face, “I wouldn’t have put up with it if I didn’t think it was worth sticking through. Don’t worry about _me_.”

 

Marvin remains unconvinced, but Whizzer’s moving to press a kiss to his lips, and as always it serves as a successful distraction. He melts into it, and it makes him feel warm and for now his parents are off his mind. It’s welcome, despite his concerns, and Marvin lets his eyes close as he wraps his arms around Whizzer’s neck. _This_ , he reminds himself, _this_ is what makes any strife brought upon him by his parents worth it. This was all him, all his choice, part of the path he’d forged himself.

 

As long as Whizzer stayed with him, willing to kiss his worries away, he’ll survive.


	10. A Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the two year gap between acts, where a drunk Whizzer pays his ex-lover a visit.

He’s standing on wobbly legs with a bottle neck clutched tightly in one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for the sake of stability. It’s no secret that Whizzer Brown  _knows_  how to handle his liquor, but he enjoys the buzz and warmth it fills him with when he’s just started on another glass past tipsiness. It fills his thoughts, especially those with edges far too sharp for him to handle sober. It somehow made all the guys in this bar look  _fractionally_ more attractive– or at least attractive enough to consider screwing later that night. Even when he’d declare them hopeless closet cases, a type he knew and could read like a book, they blurred into something more desirable the more alcohol fused with the blood pumping through his system.

Normally he’d have either gone home with somebody, screwed around in the bathroom, or both. But instead he’d gotten wasted on drinks bought for him but not rewarded for, and then bought himself a bottle to nurse. Because even over a year later he can’t shake _M **arvin**_  from his head. He’ll go out and every now and again his thoughts will drift back to ’ _wow_ , that guy has Marvin’s hair’ or ‘I  _swear_  Marvin had that same exact tie’. He can’t take it, can’t take being constantly bothered by thoughts of a man who  _definitely_  wasn’t thinking about  _ **him**_. A man he wasn’t supposed to care about in the first place. it was too much, he decided sitting at the bar as guy number six walked away disgruntled by lack of attention. He had to put an  **end**  to it.

Hence why he wound up at Marvin’s door at two in the morning on a Saturday night, banging furiously in the door. Sober him would be  _aghast_. Sober him would absolutely  _despise_  his guts for even considering coming here let alone actually going through with it. And sober him would definitely want to fling himself off a bridge if he ever remembered what happened after a bleary eyed Marvin answered the door.

Eyes rake over Marvin as he stands there in his sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair mussed by sleep and surprise worn plainly on his face. But Whizzer doesn’t see surprise, doesn’t wait for any questions to be asked before swaying where he stood and jabbing a finger at Marvin’s chest.

“ _You_ ,” he slurs, eyebrows scrunched together and nose screwed up, “I need to  **talk**  to you.”

Once Marvin recovers from his shock, he winces at the loud volume of Whizzer’s voice and glances over his shoulder back into his apartment before quickly stepping out and closing the door behind him. They stand there for a moment in the hallway, Marvin’s hand still on the doorknob and Whizzer still staring accusingly as he swayed. Staring like he was  _looking_  for a fight, an apology, a rise of some sort. Because he was, he  _was_  looking for something interesting, something to shake life up again and change the monotony caused by screwing around like some detached pet of a pretty boy. He’d always been  ** _good_**  at playing the part, but something about doing it now after all his time spent with Marvin only made it feel uncomfortable, as though it was tainted now by memory.

There’s something  _different_  about Marvin, something softer in the way he holds himself, but Whizzer is too drunk to care– he blames it on the sleep marvin had just been roused out of. But there’s still a hint of condescension in his gaze that he has no problem picking up on, because it was familiar and dig under his skin more than anything else could. He didn’t come back here for that, he came back for  ** _closure_** , damn it.

“Whizzer, you’re drunk. I think it’d be best if–”

“That’s  _it?_ ” Whizzer’s volume hasn’t decreased, and Marvin’s features crinkle for a brief moment before his hand finally leaves the doorknob, “Almost _two fucking years_  and the first words out of your mouth are 'Whizzer you’re drunk’! Not _damn_ , Whizzer, you look good!’ or 'wow, long time no see, you’re looking  _great!_ ’? no,  _ **better** – _'Whizzer, you’re looking  **sweeter**  than a donut’!”

Marvin poorly tries to conceal a snort of amusement, but Whizzer’s too riled up to notice.

“To you I was only  _cheap_ , and…and  _ **dumb**_ , and whatever the hell else you liked to say ‘bout me,” Marvin’s amusement shifts into something more uncomfortable, goading Whizzer further, “I mean, ten months and there wasn’t even a goddamn  _‘I love you’_! It’s like you only know how to give compliments when you’re lookin’ to get into a guys pants, jesus  _christ–_ ”  


Marvin’s expression pinched, and gently he was putting his hands on Whizzer’s arms and turning him around to face the way he’d come.

“Look, Jason’s asleep, you’re gonna wake the neighbors, and you’re not thinking straight right now, Whizzer. Just go home, get some rest, and if you still want to talk,  _ **call me**_.”  


There’s a softness in Marvin’s voice that as condescending as it still sounds to his drunken ears, Whizzer almost finds it soothing. It’s almost like it doesn’t belong to Marvin, who’d very rarely spoken to him in a gentle way while they were together. The only times Marvin had ever been uncharacteristically soft was on the cusp of sleep, when they were lying in bed together, limbs tangled as consciousness began to ebb away. In those moments, walls were warily dropped for even just a brief moment to exchange a chaste kiss or soft word– it had never failed to make Whizzer feel both safe and unbearably flighty at the same time.

But now it’s reaching his ears the same time Marvin’s trying to shoo him away like an unwanted pest. While Whizzer has half a drunken mind to press and ask if Jason’s the  _only_  one sleeping over tonight, the thought flickers out before he can vocalize anything and he’s left pouting over his shoulder. It’s childish, but he’d found the pout worked well on Marvin; he hopes it still works even after all this time.

“That’s not fair.”  


“It’s  _plenty_  fair. Go home, sleep this off, endure a horrible hangover–”

“I don’t  **get**  hungover, Marvin,” Whizzer interrupts with a petulant frown, to which Marvin just rolls his eyes.  


“I’ve had to  _deal_  with a hungover you before,” he argues, and for a suspended moment in time they’ve found familiar ground, but something shifts in Marvin’s face and it seems guarded and Whizzer finds he doesn’t like it.  


“ _Just–_  call me if you want to talk, but do it when you’re sober, Whizzer. Not at the crack of dawn when my twelve year old son is trying to sleep, drunk off your ass.”  


Whizzer squints, nose crinkling in defiance, but no argument formulates in his brain, lost in a sea of alcohol induced thoughts. 

“ _Fine_.”  


“ _Fine_. Goodnight,” Marvin gives him one last encouraging nudge down the hall, hand already reaching for the doorknob to his apartment.  


“Next time I expect you to have a  **compliment**  ready,  _asshole_ ,” slurred insult loses impact when mumbled through a smirk, but Marvin just shakes his head with an exasperated smile and closes his door behind him.  


Heading home, Whizzer decides that sober him will definitely hate his guts tomorrow morning, and for good reason: not only did he leave without getting closure, but he’ll have a splitting headache when he wakes up, and he’ll be short the money it took to grab a cab to Marvin’s and back home.

At least sober him won’t remember any of it.


End file.
